#if he isn’t wearing one at all he has forearm crutches

[ven10]

hello, it's the anon from before again! i love the headcanons that you gave (they're all so fitting! the halloween one is my favorite), and i would love to hear your headcanons on injuries the quags got from the eagles!

Hiya! It’s great hearing from you again! (+I like how you told me you are the same anon from before!) :) Glad you liked the hcs!! :)

Headcanons for injuries the Quagmire triplets got from the eagle attack:

Isadora loses an eye to the eagles. As it’s a gothic trope to present eyes as “a window to the soul” she likes using the fact she lost an eye in her poetry a lot; either to suggest the past ripped part of her with it or that she isn’t as transparent as most people. (Or, in her most private poems, she links it to the VFD eye and how the organisation has obscured her view of the world permanently. As though their insignia is there in replacement of the missing eye.)

At the start she was sort of self-conscious about it [taking this from how it was Duncan who had the confidence to stand up against Carmelita -when she was chanting-in front of the entire cafeteria rather than Isadora. Also, in Netflix TAA when “Coach Genghis” asks for all the orphans to stand, Isadora glances around her self-consciously whereas Duncan just stares straight ahead.] and she tried covering that side of her face with her fringe/bangs.

However, after some time, she entered a mindset that was more so “if people are going to stare anyway then I may as well give them something to stare at” and decided to have a bit of fun with it by using more abstract prosthetic eyes; like one that is entirely black without any iris or pupil. That one is useful for when she wants to seem intimidating to strangers. Her brothers think it’s emo. Quigley encourages her to play pranks with it a lot and the results are often hilarious.

When strangers ask her how she lost it [scars around the prosthetic eye make it noticeable] she gives a different answer every time ranging from “using a pencil sharpened at both ends” to “What do you mean my eye is missing??!”

She’d occasionally wear an eyepatch since it fits with her aesthetic however she’d usually stick to prosthetic eyes since they’re more comfortable (bc the socket stays in shape). Other than the beloved demonic looking all-black eye she’d have a few natural coloured ones, one is the same colour as her other eye but she has others which are different natural colours to make it look like she has heterochromia (When your eyes are different colours: can be central, sectoral or-in this case-complete.)

When she’s somewhere with only her triplets/friends she prefers them to stay on the side with her real eye so she can see them however when she’s out somewhere where there’s lots of people she likes at least one person she knows to be on the side with the prosthetic eye so that nobody will (accidentally) sneak up on her.

In book-canon Quigley flew a helicopter to his siblings to try and save them from the eagles so I imagine this would mean he went higher than the balloon to try fight off the birds once he realised his siblings weren’t going to be able to make it onto the helicopter (bc they were too busy fighting off eagles) Meaning when he fell it was from a greater distance than his siblings and he hit the water with a greater impact. He ends up injuring both of his legs; the right worse than the left.

His injuries have the biggest initial negative hit on him compared to his siblings bc he’s an explorer and at the start he only sees the drawbacks of how it’ll impact his ability to explore. After time he slowly sees the more positive aspects of it, especially once he and Violet brainstorm ideas for custom forearm crutches. [sort of an abstract take on the “look at the map” vs “look at the waterfall” Vi showing Quigley opportunities+alternative ways of achieving things]

The crutches would have handles that double as a torch on one side and as a grappling hook on the other once secret buttons are pressed. The grappling hook would work in a similar way to Violet’s pasta machine invention in that it’d pull Quigley up to wherever he needs to be in a more efficient+quiet way than physically climbing would have anyway. The bottom of the crutches are loaded with (sleeping) darts that can be fired if Quigley swings them like a gun and pulls a hidden trigger on the handle. He can load them with whatever he wants though, sometimes he’ll fill them with pens so that when one of his siblings inevitably asks for one he can fire it at them unexpectedly. 🖊️

Sometimes when he’s in public in a place like the supermarket he’ll use one of these features like the grappling hook to pull himself to the other end of the room in a matter of seconds where it would take someone walking minutes just for fun+efficiency. It’s always extra fun when he hears a kid trying to explain what they saw to their parent who assumes they’re lying.

He has a couple of rice bags to heat up that help with pain; they all have maps sewn on them or drawn on with fabric paint. 🗺️

Duncan has the least serious injuries of the three; which he sometimes feels guilty about even though it’s not his fault and Quigs+Isa are glad he got away mostly okay.

He has 3 jagged scars across one side of his face from an eagle’s talons alongside a few similar scars on his arms from where he tried fighting them off. On the plus side, the scars cause him to be taken more seriously when he becomes an investigative journalist as many assume he earned the injuries on an important job.

Thanks for the ask! :)) Feel free to send more! :) [I swear I am capable of answering in small amounts-]

#asoue #thanksfortheask:) #quagmire triplets #duncan quagmire #quigley quagmire #isadora quagmire #asoue post canon #a series of unfortunate events #quagmire triplets hcs #hcs #Isadora Quagmire hcs #Quigley quagmire hcs #Duncan Quagmire hcs #asoue hcs #the quagmire triplets #quags #quagmire triplet #soue #series of unfortunate events

[aarcanechaoss]

Hey :)

So i saw that you did a fic where Higuchi is caught by the mafia.Can you do another one like that but with a different prompt?

Like where there's a joint PM & ADA outing but Higuchi cant attend cause she promised her sister they'll go to the carnival on that day.But councidentally the PM & ADA also go to the carnival and they see Higuchi.

And if you want you can add in how Higuchi was wearing an open back top so you can see a tatto there and the PM is surprised cause they didn't think Higuchi has tattos

Sry for it being so long😭

Don’t be sorry this is wonderful!

Also here’s a link for the tattoo a cherry blossom to match my Yamizakura theory lmao

A joint outing. What a tiresome idea yet brilliant all the same. Ever since the Guild the Armed Detective Agency and Port Mafia had been… trying more or less to work together when needed. And perhaps it was just some big plan for a means to an end but either way it at least kept the two companies busy.

Ichiyo Higuchi would not be attending this month’s gathering. Hell she was hardly invited to any of the Port Mafia’s normal gatherings so she really doubted they would bother to invite her to wherever it is they are going. Regardless she had plans, the carnival was in town and being the best big sister in the world that she is she promised she’d take Kuniko with her to the Carnival.

She didn’t know nor did she care about asking where the Port Mafia and Armed Detective Agency would be… but perhaps she should have.

~~*~~*~~*~~

“Come on Chiyo I want to check out the rides!” Her little sister whined playfully. The fifteen year old was practically vibrating from excitement as they exited the car. With her crutch held tight Kuniko waddled towards her big sister and practically dragged her into the Carnival itself.

It was a hot day and Ichiyo was thankful she let her sister pick her outfit today, with both girls pretty much matching. Black shorts and red shirts with their comfiest sneakers. Kuniko wore an old worn T-shirt with an English phrase that had Ichiyo chuckling every time she saw it (“what the duck” being the hilarious catchphrase with a cute little duck sitting right below it). Ichiyo however wore a red backless halter top with her cherry blossom tattoo on full display at Kuniko’s request.

Kuniko loved the image of a cherry blossom branch creeping its way up Ichiyo’s spine, with flowers and petals delicately floating about. It was so her sister it made her giddy because it was a well-known fact she loved the tree at the Higuchi home so why wouldn’t she have a tattoo.

Ichiyo loved seeing her sister happy. It reminded her that life was worth it and could still be joyful. She loves her little sister so damn much- she can understand why Akutagawa feels so protective towards Gin because she’s the exact same.

Kuniko would practically drag Ichiyo from stand to stand in excitement, getting small gifts and trinkets for their family and friends. They were having an absolute blast.

“Chiyo look.” Kuniko said at one point, hand raised and pointing towards and awfully familiar face. “Isn’t that the man from the newspaper?”

The weretiger was here… she can’t even say she’s surprised really considering how he’s practically everywhere in Yokohama most days. But on the one end of the spectrum this meant that Atsushi Nakajima decided to come to the Carnival today and see what it was or… everyone else decided to come to the Carnival as well.

Honestly Ichiyo believed it was the former considering she couldn’t see anyone from either company surrounding the very uncomfortable looking boy- oh… oh no he was having a panic attack.

With a hobble and shuffle of Kuniko’s crutch the blonde mafioso made it to the weretiger’s side quickly.

“Hey.. Atsushi I need you to breathe okay.” She started, hands lightly gripping his forearms- because no offence she didn’t feel like getting clawed today. “I need you to tell me two things you can hear.”

“Uh… your voice… music?” He said after a moment.

“Three things you can see.” She says again. “And follow my breathing.” Ichiyo places his hand on her chest allowing him to feel her breathing.

“You, grass… you, grass… my hands.”

“Very good Atsushi. Three things you can feel.”

“Hands, my clothes and the breeze.”

“One more okay.” Higuchi said softly. “Something you can smell.”

“Ch-cherry blossoms?” He looked confused as he searched the area wearily before his eyes landed on the blonde.

“You back with us now?” She questions softly. He nods.

“Sorry… sorry just… I thought I saw- someone.” And didn’t that break her heart just that little bit. She never understood Akutagawa’s anger and rage towards the boy who suffered so much, she understood that Akutagawa went through his own trauma’s yes but so did she and many others but she would never belittle someone else’s trauma the way she’d heard him do so some days. She cared for the Rashoumon user, she truly did and she would hang stars in the sky for him but trauma is trauma and no one should be shamed for it.

Ichiyo shook her head, clearing her mind.

“It’s okay you don’t have to tell me Atsushi- May I call you Atsushi or would you prefer Nakajima?”

“Atsushi is fine Miss Higuchi.” He said, sounding awfully tired at that.

“I’m just Ichiyo when I’m not at work lovely.” She said now moving to grip his hand… a simple and calming gesture that always helped her siblings, specifically Kuniko when she was feeling drained and it seemed to work for the weretiger too. “Is anyone else here we were just about to get some food and drinks anyway so we are happy to help.”

“Uh yeah. The joint outing was today… I noticed you weren’t there.” He whispered.

“Ah… so they are here huh? Let’s go get you a drink and maybe some food yeah?”

“Okay.” Atsushi said as he gripped the commander’s hand tighter.

~~*~~*~~*~~

The group was in a mix of emotions, many worried and others wanting to continue on with their little adventure of the Carnival.

But they’d lost Atsushi and now Kyoka was worried sick- Koyo immediately took her to search for him together whilst the others decided to stay as a pack.

Either way they all found him after twenty minutes sat with two women one blonde and the other brunette (who looked about Kenji and Kyoka’s age at that).

And as they walked across the impromptu food court that blonde started to look really familiar.

Cold hands pressed against her back as she leaned over Atsushi tapping away at his phone to alert the ADA of his whereabouts- considering his shaking hands. She yelped and spun around ready to slap the person who surprised her only to see Gin.

“Sorry for startling you.” She says.

“It’s okay Gin… you wouldn’t happen to know where the others are would you?” Ichiyo asked. “I think Atsushi needs Kyoka to sit with him for a bit, he’ll be okay but..,. Yeah.”

Gin looked behind her, behind the weretiger and low and behold the entire group had arrived silently.

“Yo Big Sis I didn’t think you could make it to the joint outing.” Tachihara gleams once he’s close enough to see the blonde’s face. “Sick tattoo. You don’t strike me as a tattoo person.”

He was weirdly chill and yeah granted not everyone in Japan liked tattoo’s and she was in the mafia… knowing him she expected a little more fanfare just because he could.

“Oh… thank you.” She says now turning to face the group, Gin now stood beside her staring awkwardly at the shaking weretiger. “Ah Kyoka!”

“Yes?” The girl asks stepping forward as Higuchi motioned her closer.

“He had a panic attack. I got him to calm down a little but since you are practically his sister you should take over. I know I’d hate it if no one let me take care of my sister, Kuni.”

“Chiyo!” Her little sister pouted.

“Holy shit tattoo.” Was not what she expected to hear fall from her executives lips as he and Dazai arrived, flanking her sides (so Dazai could see to Atsushi and Chuuya could find out what’s happening).

“Ah yes I have a tattoo…”

“Cherry blossom branch?” Ozaki asked.

“Yeah. My family home had a giant one I’d climb so…”

“She broke her arm twice climbing it.” Kuniko said, it was blunt yet full of teasing.

“Shut up gremlin.” Ichiyo groaned as she pulled her sister into a weak headlock.

“I like your tattoo Miss Higuchi!” Kenji shouted, startling everyone at that.

“Why is everyone looking at my tattoo?”

“Because it looks divine on you.” Dazai said smoothly…. Only to get a foot to the face and tumble to the floor.

“No flirting with my co-workers you bandaged freak!” Chuuya yelled, his hands now resting on her exposed shoulders like that would keep the former mafioso at bay.

“Cherry blossoms symbolism is quite beautiful.” Ranpo pipes up, stepping right into Ichiyo’s personal space. “Mostly beauty and pride, but it is also associated with life, impermanence, and love. It can also be a reminder of how nothing lasts forever and that you should celebrate each day.”

“Oh… yes… thank you Ranpo for that insight.” Ichiyo flushes, leaning back into Chuuya’s hands just that bit.

“No problem. It suits you is all.” He said before stepping back to sit at the table… and devour his snacks.

“Why is everyone yelling?” Akutagawa asked as he stepped close to his sister, a small car plush in his hands as he passed it too her.

“Aww Ryuu thank you. I shall name is Ren two, after my cat.” Gin says with a teasing smile.

“Yeah whatever… so why are we yelling and who’re they?”

The group fell quiet for a moment before giggles and snorts erupted.

“You don’t recognise your own co-worker.” Tachihara snorted with many of the ADA following while the rest of the mixed group just snickered. “It’s Higuchi and that’s… her little sister?”

“Kuniko Higuchi…. Sup.” The brunette greeted from her seat. Ichiyo, who had yet to be let go of by Chuuya (who was still kicking at Dazai for flirting with her- as he does with most women) turned her head towards Akutagawa who seemed to have gained the tiniest bit of colour on his pale cheeks.

“Regardless… why are you all making such a scene you found the weretiger yes? Now let’s continue or go home.” Akutagawa said sounding extremely bored.

“Higuchi has a tattoo dontcha want to see it?” Gin teased.

“Not really. Tattoo or not I do not care about something stuck to one’s skin that was probably painful.” He answered.

“Huh? Nah she took it like a champ. Chiyo didn’t feel shit.”

“Kuni! Language.” Ichiyo snapped.

“Yes mum.” The teen snorted.

“Honestly.” Ichiyo groaned. “Welp I promised Kuniko I’d show her the Ferris wheel and a few more stall games before we head out for dinner… lovely to see you all on this very warm day.”

“You aren’t staying?” Kyoka questions.

“Well no I wasn’t even really invited to the joint outing anyway and I don’t really get much time with my sister due to work so I want to spend more time with her.” The blonde answered as she peeled herself away from gloved hands and helped her sister to stand.

“Not invited?” Yosano wondered aloud.

“It’s how it usually goes. Unless Mori tells me personally I’m usually left to my own devices either inviting myself or not going at all… but either way my sister is priority so I wouldn’t have joined today regardless. We should go now anyway. See you all at work.”

“See ya Big Sis.” Tachihara waved.

“Goodbye Higuchi.” The rest added as she and her sister began to leave.

“By Mafia lady!” Kenji added making the blonde laugh and ruffle his hair.

The two Higuchi’s pondered office through the crowd towards a few more stalls looking as happy as can be.

They had to wonder… why did she still seem so down?

#bsd #Bungou stray dogs #bsd fluff #bsd angst #Bungou stray dogs fluff #Bungou stray dogs angst #higuchi’s sister #ichiyo higuchi #bsd higuchi #Higuchi has a tattoo #armed detective agency #bsd port mafia

[hallowed-nebulae]

For @khoc-week day two, inventory. This one is a ficlet, since I don't have the energy to draw anything today -- though some rambling to precede it.

Kiru has an assortment of things -- most of it is just first aid, chapstick, and a notebook and some pens so it can write stuff down it it needs to remember. It also got it's ears pierced -- thanks to Riku -- but doesn't actually wear earrings too too often. Many of these things are liked, but Kiru wouldn't die if they were suddenly gone, only be inconvenienced. Kiru does need its crutches, however, to even stand, since without them its bad leg will give out after about a minute, and hurt a lot both during and afterwards.

Something that may be a bit surprising, but Kiru does actually have a Keyblade -- Darker Than Dark (the same as the keyblade originating in 358/2 days). The plan is for Kiru to have been brought to the future, like Riku Replica was in KH3, and for Kiru to have been Bequeathed by Riku during that time. Though Kiru's memories were not retained, the actual Keyblade was, and so Kiru is able to summon the blade whenever. Due to its crutches, however, and the fact it wasthey were injured so badly in a fight to begin with, Kiru cares little for being a Keyblade wielder and actively would rather fight (if at all) by biting things, since its jaw strength is immense and can break or crush most things.

With that rambling out of the way, have the ficlet under the cut!

You carefully set the bag -- more of a backpack, really -- down in front of you, where you're sitting on the laminated tile floor. It's a nice bag -- leather, zippered pockets, the main big pocket having a magnetic clasp, easier for you to open.

Inside of the bag -- bookbag, backpack, whatever it is that the thing is named -- are many, many, many things. Mostly small things. There's your notebook with scribbled reminders and observations, and the many pens you have all in different colors and with different inks. There's a fantasy novel that Zexion got you after you made a sad face at him, and a box of tea that Namine had pressed into your hands one early morning, saying she wasn't good at words but she's good at giving gifts.

There's a couple changes of clothes, carefully folded so that they'll take up the least space possible. A knife or two that Larxene had thrown at you, and you'd decided to keep when they'd stuck into the floor instead. Several hair ties, and a good wooden comb for brushing your own thick, long hair out. A couple sticks of chapstick.

Truth be told, it's not much, you know. You're fine with that, though. It's enough for you. The items in the bag, the clothes on your self. The crutches Zexion had helped you get, forearm crutches specifically, with black plastic and rubber tips on the ends, metal painted a pastel yellow to cheer you up. Not to mention the first aid kit you'd got recently, just in case, or those earrings you'd let Riku convince you to get.

It's not a lot, compared to what someone else might have. But it doesn't have to be. It's enough for you, isn't it? It's yours. All of these things, all of them yours.

(in the quiet of night, when it's dark and dim and all the markings upon your body shine a phosphorescent blue -- you hold out your right hand, and reach. Darker Than Dark materializes for you, then, sitting into your hand as if it were meant to be there always. It's a heavier blade, and you know you'd never be able to truly use it in a fight, not with how you need your crutches to even stand for more than a minute at a time.

You don't know where the keyblade came from. You know Riku gave it to you, but not when. You know that neither you nor he have any memory of this, and that Riku's own keyblade appeared half a year after yours did. You'd managed to get that information stored on your hard drive, with those other important memories, rather than it trying to save to that external memory drive that didn't exist and that Vexen had broken.

When the blade fits into your hands, almost warm, you hold Darker Than Dark for a few moments and just look at it, the blue glow of your bioluminescent markings shining upon the cold metal, dark indigo shaft and pale lilac teeth and handle guard, turned a shade of darker blue-green and pale gray-blue in the darkness. You hold your keyblade, and look at it, and let it burn itself into your memory so that you will not forget.

And then you go to bed, and repeat it the pattern a few days later.)

#khocweek2022 #kingdom hearts #rambles #drabbles #oc: replica model 13‑b #kiru is very fun bc i can add in little details #and since a good chunk of this stuff is just concepts and all i can play around with it #and not feel like everything absolutely has to match up between this stuff and the later stuff i make for kiru #anyways -- it's very fun getting to ramble about it. kiru is great #crushing stones verse

[nymfaia]

ARENVALD’S INJURIES POST 5.5.

     Prior to Endwalker’s release and the expanded role quests involving Arenvald and Fordola, he is seen in a wheelchair with a cast or bandage around one of his lower legs. While this bandage is removed prior to the role quests, the extent of his injury is never expanded upon past him stating he “may never walk again”.

     With that in mind, I proposed that Arenvald suffered massive trauma to his leg. Combined with the concepts surrounding Garleans being unable to be healed by magic and the knowledge that, throughout most of history, limb trauma was often treated by the offending limb simply being removed, I arrived at the conclusion that at the end of 5.5, Arenvald simply had a below-the-knee amputation.

     In Endwalker, he is seen in the same wheelchair as he had been previously, but the bandages were removed and his model returned to it’s default state. Moving around his model still had him shift to turn at the waist, and it wasn’t until that point that I realized I might have overthought his wounds and he may have simply had a spinal injury.

     However, with all the time I had already spent researching, I have still decided to stick to my guns. For my personal portrayal of Arenvald post-shb, he is still an amputee. The burns sustained to the leg that Lunar Ifrit pinned were too deep for the tissue to heal naturally - as he is half-garlean, he is unable to be healed by magic, and the best course of action was to remove the dead and mangled tissue. 

     While he is not trying to keep his wound a secret, he still will wear sabatons or tall, close-toed boots. He has taken pains to retain some sense of normality. Maybe if he pretends he is still whole, others won’t view him differently, either.

      Arenvald is wheelchair bound for longer excursions or ones on uneven terrain, like the trips throughout Ala Mhigo for Endwalker. However, if left to his own devices, he most often be seen with under-the-arm crutches or forearm crutches. He isn’t a big fan of having others push his wheelchair, and the best way to nip that in the bud - and to avoid feeling as if he’s being pitied - is to simply avoid using it. 

#i WANTED TO MAKE THIS AFTER E.W CAME OUT #AND I DID THE CONTENT W HIM IN IT #and i am happy they didn't go look! all better and that he kept his wheelchair #but i'm still keeping my ideas and h.cs so. gently yeets canon #i shouldn't have to say this but there's nothing wrong with characters being wheelchair bound or needing mobility aids #but with the focus given to his LEG/s being wounded in that one convo w a.lphinaud. i decided to lean into it being a leg injury and not a #spinal one. so. he could still use a wheelchair but quite frankly. unless he's cooped up in m.or dhona. #it isn't practical. looks at the scene of him in ala mhigo. WHO WHEELED HIM THRU ALL THAT DIRT? #body horror tw #broken bones tw #gore tw #amputation tw #injuries tw #burns tw #graphic injuries tw #6.0 spoilers #5.5 spoilers #⚪ arenvald ; hcs.

[thunderbottle]

Thunder's DSMP Disability Headcanons

disclaimer!!! i am sticking to physical disabilities bc honestly delving into the complexity of mental stuff is stressful and physical disabilities easier to apply to characters that like,, already exist yknow

Tubbo

Oh you KNOW this boy has messed up hearing. In my head his right ear is worse (as in he can barely hear anything with it) from the festival execution bc he turned his head away from the fireworks. The various l'manberg explosions also contributed.

I subscribe to the headcanon that being around schlatt sorta 'infected' tubbo with goat traits so bam i'm giving him joint problems in his legs from them changing so fast to be more goat-like. It makes him a bit slower than before and the snowchester cold makes them achey.

Jack

Chronic pain both before and after revival. It's different after he comes back to life, though. It's not any worse or better, just... different. It bothers him more than he lets on. He can't even find comfort in the familiar pain. sadge.

Tommy

same deal as tubbo with being a bit HOH. the repeated explosions during exile would not have treated him kindly.

also related to exile: on the way to techno's house and living in a hole in the middle of the tundra, i feel like he's missing a few fingers and one of his feet from frostbite (y'know how he lost a shoe? yeah.) He makes his own prosthetic while staying with techno but doesn't use it all the time bc it's painful. he's got a fancy crutch that sam made for him which is a lot more comfortable most of the time.

another exile one bc i feel like that whole experience (being hurt often, no real access to first aide, lack of a steady food source, etc etc) would be Not Great for a person's health. Dream dislocated one of his shoulders 'on accident' and it hasn't quite healed correctly, often re-dislocating when he's carrying heavy things or stretching it the wrong way.

Ranboo

my ranboo design has wacky kangaroo rat legs that aren't super suited to,, working correctly so he wears braces on the ankles and knees to keep them bending correctly. he also uses those coon forearm crutches like in that one fanart i did of him forever ago.

okay this isn't a hc but can i just say i'm so happy that c!ranboo is like,, canonically disabled. like ik it's bc he's enderboy but Still i love it sm. thank you mr. beloved

Awesamdude

he was born partially blind and relies a lot on sound. his redstone machine have a lot of essential parts that intentionally make extra noise so he knows they're working correctly and with the right timing.

he wears the gasmask half as a fashion statement and half bc he's got asthma and the redstone dust that typically doesn't bother other people can be dangerous to work with for him and trigger asthma attacks, especially at the quantities he works with.

Philza

caneza!!! he has trouble keeping his balance with his wings out of commission so he weathers the increased old-man-shaming in favor of being able to walk lmao

Wilbur

making this one short bc thinking abt c!wilbur makes me sad

chronic fatigue syndrome!! get some rest tall child!! like i know it doesn't really help but still!!! *wraps alivebur up in blankets like a feral, injured cat* i care you!!!!

Eret

okay i know that the herobrine eyes are bc she's related to herobrine somehow but i'm making her blind anyways. herobrine is blind too. you can't stop me.

guide ferrets... (context: eret's chat is a hoard of ferrets that follows him around it's very good)

he makes all his own buildings so that he has the floorplan memorized before even moving in. how do they turn out so pretty when he can't see them? well, he's more powerful than you could ever know and can do anything he puts his mind to so jot that down

Techno

this pig has ARTHRITIS

technocane!!!!! i love him

If you want me to expand on any of these send me an ask or in the reblogs of this post! Feel free to add on your own hcs within the wheelhouse I'd love to hear them <3

#there are more but i'm gonna stop here #i am disabled but i don't have personal experience with every single one of these so lmk if i've fucked something up #dream smp #headcanons #dsmp headcanon #mcyt #am i gonna tag all the characters? yes. #tubbo #ranboo #philza #eret #tommyinnit #jack manifold #technoblade #awesamdude #wilbur soot #/rp #im disabled and i will make the fave characters disabled. you can't stop me. #also i know most disabilities don't come from trauma but dsmp is a bit of a hellworld so i don't feel like it's out of line

[youbloodymadgenius]

Brother (a Modern!Ivar fic with an unexpected Ragnarsson as special guest)

A/N: This is my entry to @maggiescarborough​ celebration. Happy early Anniversary, love 💝

I’m quite proud of this one! So, please, I know it’s not a reader insert, but give it a try, give it a chance 🙏🏽

Prompt in bold, as usual.

@inforapound​ - I know how much i owe you. Thank you 💞

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: One of Ivar's brothers was in a car accident. How will Ivar react?

Warning: description of physical injuries; mention of a car crash; medical and surgical inaccuracies.

Words: 2331

As soon as he spots Doctor Mikelsson, Ivar gets up, wincing at the throbbing pain in his legs as he steps closer to the renowned surgeon. 

 "Doc," he says, giving him a slight nod, "How is he?"

 The surgeon sighs tiredly and slowly rubs his palms down his scrubs-clad thighs. "I'd say he has been very lucky. As far as I know, it could have been much worse. Car versus truck is never a winning combo, at least for the car's driver. His car has been completely destroyed, from what I hear. It must have been a terrible wreck. "

"That’s an understatement." Ivar grumbles under his breath, shivering as he struggles to get the images of the crash out of his mind. The pictures he saw were so vivid, he could still hear the screams and ambulance sirens that had undoubtedly filled the accident scene. Closing his eyes for a brief instant, he shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the here and now. 

 "That's not what I was asking, Doc. How is he?" He insists, emphasizing the last three words as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, leaning heaviliy on his crutch, physical and mental discomfort obvious on his face.

 "Well, he's not so bad, all things considered. As I said, it could have been much worse. He's stable and his condition isn't life-threatening. It's serious, though."

 Ivar rolls his eyes, getting impatient. "Straight to the point, Doc, please! And no need to sugarcoat it." His commanding voice is sharp and stern, his tight-lipped expression giving away what little patience he has. 

 "Okay, Ivar." Doctor Mikelsson gives him a weary smile, a hand up in surrender. "About his upper body first. Aside from several bruises, he had a sprained wrist and a cracked rib. The last one will be painful for awhile but it won't be an issue in the long run. His lower body, on the other hand…" The surgeon frowns, visibly gathering his thoughts. "He suffered a double tibia-fibula fracture of his right leg and his pelvis has been multi-fractured; therefore I had to stabilize it with plates and screws. To allow his pelvis to recover, your brother will be bed- and then wheelchair-bound for at least six weeks, maybe more. Not that it matters, anyway, given the condition of his left leg."

 Hearing those words, Ivar shudders. "How…" His voice comes out strangled and he clears his throat. "How is it? You… You could save it, right? That's why I… had him transferred here."

 Putting a soothing hand on Ivar's forearm, the doctor nods. "Yes, I saved it. It was quite a challenge, I must admit. His leg has been severely shattered during the crash, literally crushed by one of the truck's tires. From the top of his thigh to the tips of his toes, not a single bone was intact. I do understand why my colleague from the public hospital wanted to amputate it, you know?"

 "But you saved it?" Ivar asks once again, his free hand running nervously through his disheveled hair.

 "I did." The doctors answers soberly before explaining. "I reduced the largest fractures, using rods and plates there as well. I couldn't avoid putting an external fixator though, his leg was too damaged. He'll still need several more surgeries, but he gets to keep his leg."

 "Thanks, Doc." Ivar adorns a slight smile which doesn't completely reach his eyes. "And what about recovery? He will fully recover, right?" A frown creasing his forehead, Ivar bites his inner cheek, worried and concerned. 

 Grimacing, the surgeon lets out a deep breath. "Ivar, I'm not sure you understand the extent of the damage. It's not just about a couple of broken bones. We're talking about devastating injuries that could have – that should have – resulted in amputation. If you ask me if your brother will walk again, I can't be sure yet, but I'm quite confident he will. Will he need walking aids, like cane, crutch and or leg brace? It's too soon to say. But to be perfectly honest with you, it's quite likely." Seeing Ivar wince, the surgeon gives him an apologetic look. "Sorry Ivar. Be sure I did my best."

 "Don't be sorry, I know you did. It's just a lot to take in. Does he… Does my brother know?"

 Scrunching his face, the surgeon hesitates, unsure. "More or less. I talked to him in the recovery room but he was a bit dazed from the drugs and the nurse had to increase the morphine because he was in pain. He was completely out of it after that. He'll probably sleep through the night so I'll talk to him first thing in the morning." Taking a step back, Doctor Mikelsson stares at Ivar from head to foot, noticing how the blue-eyed man favors his left leg, his right foot barely touching the floor. "You should head home and get some rest, Ivar. I'm pretty sure you've been wearing these braces for far too long." Giving him a light pat on the shoulder, he shrugs. "I'll do the same anyway. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Ivar." 

 ***

 Opening the door as quietly as possible, Ivar watches his sleeping brother. He's awfully pale, his frail frame so small on the hospital bed, his right leg in a cast, his left propped up on a huge pillow. Ivar frowns at the sight of the fixator, which makes him think of a barbaric tool more than a medical device. He suddenly feels grateful that he never needed one. 

 Trying to not make any noise, he crosses the room without using his crutch, struggling and wincing with every step. He's successful but fails to stifle a hiss as he sits down on the chair next to his brother's bed. He looks at him, worried, and sees his eyes flutter open. 

 "Ivar?" His brother's voice is hoarse and the stunned look on his face unmistakable. "Why did you come here? To make fun of me?" There's no fight or fire in his eyes, only exhaustion and sadness. 

 Ivar shrugs, a light smile playing on his lips. "Can't say the thought didn't cross my mind." He lowers his head one second, snorting, and when he raises it again, it's with a serious look on his face. "Guess I wanted to know how you are doing." His voice is barely a whisper and he doesn't look his brother in the eye. 

 "What did you say?" Ivar's brother's tone is suspiscious, dripping with disbelief. "Since when are you concerned about that??" He tries to sit up but groans in pain, collapsing back onto the bed. 

 Worry wrinkling his forehead, Ivar instantly gets up, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hold still, will you? And seriously, tell me, how are you feeling? How is your pain? I mean, on a scale from zero to ten, zero meaning no pain at all and ten an unbearable pain. Tell me, how bad is it?"

 Ivar's brother rubs his cheek with two fingers, squinting his eyes, before letting out a long and audible sigh. "Four I think, maybe five."

 Ivar – who lives on a daily basis with a six or seven rated pain – has to remind himself that his pain treshold is much higher than that of ordinary people. "Okay," he begins softly, "four or five might still be tolerable but don't let it get higher. Look," he points at a small medical bulb with his index finger, "that's a morphine pump, just squeeze it once and let the magic work. Trust me, it's terribly efficient. It will make you a bit dizzy but it'll be worth it." As to illustrate his point, Ivar squeezes the pump and he can see the relief washing over his brother's face almost instantly as the pain goes numb.

 "I spoke with the doctor who did the surgery this morning. Did you?" Ivar's brother asks, a frown on his face and biting his lower lip.

 "I did." Ivar answers without saying anything more. An uneasy silence settles in, eventually broken by Ivar's brother‘s shaky voice. "So, you know there's a chance…" His words catch in his throat and he swallows loudly. "What if…" Overcome with anxiety, he's unable to say more.

 "Hey, stop that, brother!" Ivar almost scolds him."You will walk again. It may be hard, but you'll get there. For now, you should be thankful for being alive. You know what they say… Where there's life, there's hope. So please, stay positive and fucking look at me if you need to. I was able to walk, so I'm pretty sure you can too."

 Ivar's brother looks at him for a long time, a puzzled look on his face. "Karma is a bitch, isn't it?" He eventually says sheepishly, a sad smile crossing his lips. "You can say it, I won't get mad, you know? I probably deserve this, after all I did…" He sighs, lowering his gaze, but Ivar doesn't allow it, raising his brother's head with a finger on his chin. 

 "Listen carefully, brother. No one deserves to suffer. Neither you nor anyone else. Karma has nothing to do with what happened to you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more. The truck driver was sleep-deprived and didn't see the red light. It sucks, I get it, but it was just bad luck that you were at this crossroad at the same time that he was."

 Ivar's brother just nods lightly, and then yawns, rubbing his eyes. "You should rest, brother. I'll be back soon." Ivar grabs his crutch but his brother wraps his hand around his wrist. 

 "Wait… You told me why you were here but there's one thing I don't understand. Why are you the one here? Where are our–" He stops as another yawn cuts him off.

 Ivar, however, understands his unfinished question. "Last time I heard from our dear brothers, they were going on a business trip to Cancun. Seeing as it is the beginning of Spring Break in the US, I'm pretty sure calling it a fuck trip would be more accurate. It also means that you're stuck with me for a couple of weeks. Sorry about that." Tilting his head, Ivar gives his brother a semi-amused look. "Anyway, now, you're going to rest,” Ivar strokes his brother's hair with unexpected gentleness, "and in the meantime I'm going to make arrangements for your future."

 "What… what does that mean?" Ivar's brother babbles, the drug-induced dizziness hitting him with full force.

 "It means that as soon as you'll be discharged, you'll be moving in with me." Ivar says casually, shrugging, as he heads towards the door.

 "Moving in with… you? But… why?" The questioning tone of his brother is obvious and Ivar turns back to look at him. "It was either this, or the rehab center. Trust me, you'll be better taken care of with me. My apartment is fully accessible, I've got a real PT room and Sven, my longtime PT, is the best in all of Scandinavia. You'll also probably need an OT, and it happens that I know the best OT too. Flora is her name, she helped me a lot a few years ago. So yeah, you will be in good hands, I promise. As good as Doctor Mikelsson's hands."

 Confused, Ivar's brother looks at him questioningly.  "Doctor Mikelsson is… your…" Obviously befuddled, his speech is now slurred and he can't find the right word.

 "My surgeon, yes,” Ivar completes the sentence. "Has been for the last twelve years. That's why I had you transferred here, in this clinic."

 Dumbfounded, Ivar's brother stares wide-eyed. "I don't… I didn't rela… realize I've been transf… transferred. And that… that was…"

 "At my request, yes." Ivar nods. "Because the Doc is more than a surgeon. He's a magician. He truly can work wonders. Me standing and walking is enough to prove it." Raising his head proudly, Ivar smiles at his brother reassuringly. 

 "Why… why did… you do… this for… me?" Ivar's brother sputters, exhaustion written all over his face. Yet, he fights it, his curiosity prevailing above all else. 

 Ivar shrugs once again, giving his brother an airy wave of his hand as to let him know that what he's doing is no big deal. "I know your pain, brother. I know the struggles you'll be facing. You have a long road ahead and I know how scary it might be. You won't be alone. I won't allow it. We'll get through this together, because no one should have to deal with such things alone." Ivar almost hiccups, his heart is suddenly in his throat as a wave of painful childhood memories floods his mind. He pushes them away, gritting his teeth, because now is not the time. Focusing once more on the blond in front of him, he speaks again, in a firm tone. "So, brother, you won't be. Never. I will be right next to you at every step, literally. We'll make our own version of 'the blind leading the blind', you know?" Ivar scratches the back of his neck, a half-smile on his lips, before taking a deep breath. "And you may be an asshole most of the time, but you're still my brother. That's why I do it. It's as simple as that. Sleep now, we'll talk later."

 Hand on the doorknob, Ivar hears a faint whimper. Looking backwards, he's surprised as he sees a single tear running down his brother's cheek. "Thank you, Ivar." His brother says with a trembling voice, clearly shaken up by Ivar's words.

 Ivar gives his brother a genuine smile, suddenly struck by the thougth that it's probably the first genuine smile he's given his brother in years. "You're welcome, Sig," he says sincerely as he has to blink back his own tears, an unfamiliar but warm feeling in his chest, "Sleep now, I'll be back soon. I promise."

 🛡💖🛡

@maggiescarborough​ @honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​

#sophies1year #ivar #ivars heathen army #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern-ivar #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar fic #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #vikings #vikings fic #ragnarssons #Sigurd #ivar x sigurd

[butterflyinthewell]

Some stuff about wheelchair!Vegeta with headcanons everywhere:

Vegeta was chronically ill before his injury due to medical abuse by Freeza. He was meant to be stronger than Goku, but will always be a half-step behind because of this, but even he doesn’t know that.

The illness stunted his growth and damaged all his organs. He recovered with lasting damage to his heart and kidneys. Saiyajin bodies compensate for damaged organs until they no longer function, so his liver and spleens(yes two) do some of the work his kidneys used to.

He gets drunk on less alcohol than other Saiyajins because of this.

In human terms he’s in chronic heart and kidney failure. He has to be very careful taking any meds that are toxic to the heart, liver and kidneys.

A human in his condition would be dead in a week. He’s been this way for decades.

His medical rap sheet is many pages long, and he paid huge amounts of money to have his medical records sealed so Freeza wouldn’t use them against him in the future. Medicines dangerous to him due to his organ damage were listed as allergies.

The Androids caused his spinal cord injury and the violent beating left him with PTSD. He already had sub-clinical PTSD symptoms before and this incident is what made it manifest fully.

He lost his ‘little’ spleen because of them. (Which is fine, it’s like a human appendix. He needs the big one, though.)

The damage to his body made his kidneys fail temporarily, so he was put on dialysis until they spontaneously started working again.

For a short time he was a quadriplegic on a ventilator because the surgery to repair his shattered 10th thoracic vertebra caused massive swelling in his spinal cord and brain. Nobody knew if he would survive the night after surgery, and the true extent of how the spinal cord injury affected him couldn’t be assessed until the swelling went down.

Saiyajin central nervous systems swell up when their brain or spinal cord gets punctured or exposed. It’s a vestigial trait from billions of years ago when their evolutionary ancestors’ bodies became toxic to any predator trying to eat them. This “immune edema” normally isn’t survivable, so Vegeta is the first and only Saiyajin to experience it and live.

He was in a coma from May until August. Nobody knew what condition he would be in if he woke up at all. But he did, and spent a long time in a minimally conscious state before becoming alert enough to communicate.

For awhile, he couldn’t use his vocal cords even if he had a Passy-Muir valve attached, so he communicated via AAC through a tablet and a mouth switch.

The brain edema caused neurons to sheer apart. While Saiyajin brains are capable of more neuroplasticity than human brains are, he still sustained a traumatic brain injury. He was diagnosed with epilepsy (he has tonic clonic seizures) caused by scar tissue all over his brain, and it’s inoperable because of the immune edema response. He takes meds to control his seizures and only has breakthroughs when something drastically lowers his seizure threshold.

Vegeta understands epilepsy because Raditz was born with it. Raditz’s was a lot worse and no medication controlled it. (Raditz had focal aware, atonic and tonic clonic seizures. His could be triggered by strobes, but Vegeta’s aren’t.)

Raditz was shameless about his seizures. They were just a thing that happened. Vegeta, in contrast, finds it humiliating if anyone other than Bulma or Trunks sees him have one, doubly so if he wets or soils himself during it.

Raditz tended to get confused, hyperactive and giddy the day after a seizure. Vegeta is bone-tired, struggles with brain fog and has trouble with his short term memory the day after a seizure. It takes him two days to fully recover.

Once all the brain issues settled down, it became clear that Vegeta is a t10 paraplegic, but he still gets autonomic dysreflexia because Saiyajins are more easily prone to it than humans. His experience of it is also worse than humans because he goes right to high blood pressure and a pounding headache. This drops his seizure threshold and it’s a mess. The only thing to control it is stopping the pain signal that’s happening below his lesion and keeping his head above his heart until his BP goes down.

Saiyajins have redundant nerves throughout their spine, so Vegeta can feel his toes, the soles of his feet, his tail scar and some spots on his butt. He can flex his butt muscles, but can’t wiggle his toes. He has no sensation from his belly button to the tops of his feet.

He can hobble along wearing knee-ankle-foot orthotics and using forearm crutches (four point gait) because those muscles in his butt give just enough movement to initiate a leg swing while gravity does the rest. He walks therapeutically to keep his legs from completely atrophying, but prefers his chair to get around.

He’s more prone to G-LOC in the gravity room due to orthostatic hypotension. Bulma programmed the computer to check his blood pressure periodically and tell him to power up if it drops too low since powering up raises blood pressure.

He tends to have seizures if he passes out from G-LOC. His brain is very sensitive to lack of oxygen since his injury.

He can exercise and train in up to 700Gs, but can’t fight in anything above 95 because his blood pressure and unhealthy heart can’t cope. He can die of anoxia if he’s turned upside down, abruptly flipped right side up again and held there while all the blood goes to his legs.

Vegeta doesn’t measure his disability by human standards. He measures it by Saiyajin standards. To able-bodied humans he doesn’t seem all that affected by what happened, but from his perspective he’s extremely affected.

The PTSD can make him violent and quick to anger. He has flashbacks and nightmares. If he gets triggered hard enough, he dissociates to the point of memory blackout. Sometimes he has bouts of depression.

Manual wheelchairs made for humans can’t survive him. He goes to push the wheels and they fly off, or it flies apart if he powers up, or it collapses in the gravity room, so Bulma made him some Saiyajin-proof chairs.

His current wheelchair LOOKS like an ultralight rigid open frame manual wheelchair, but it actually weighs about fifty pounds and is made of similar material to his old armor and attack ball. Unlike us in the real world, he’s got a button to push that’ll poof his chair into a capsule if he’s getting in a car or something. Btw, his chair has a white frame (hanger at 90 degrees and tapered to fit his legs), a hard backing, dark blue upholstery, a silver open tube footrest, black wheels, black push rims, white spoke covers, gold casters and gold bolts.

A regular human probably wouldn’t be able to use the wheelchair at all due to its weight.

His chair can survive up to 700 Gs in the gravity room, can survive him powering up and can take direct ki blasts without falling apart. This is because the frame is solid, not hollow tubes, and the wheels are also solid so they can’t pop or go flat.

His wheels have micro-treads, but he’s got “off road” wheels with huge treads he can switch to if he’s going somewhere outdoors or muddy.

He’s gentle about moving his chair around inside the Capsule Corporation compound, but give him a straightaway with no obstacles and he can shoot himself forward at 50mph on one full-strength push.

One of his fighting moves is to knock someone down, pop a wheelie and slam his casters down on them. Sometimes he keeps going by running them completely over. This could kill an ordinary human.

He can cheat stairs by flying, but finds that annoying and will use a ramp if it’s available.

He can still fight how he used to, just no kicks or leg movement.

All the pills he has to take (extended release Tegretol for his epilepsy, Valium for when a panic attack won’t stop) require a special coating so he metabolizes it with the full benefit instead of getting all the medication in his system at once for an hour. Injected meds work on him the same as a human, though.

Morphine is the go-to pain med when he’s having AD because he metabolizes it the fastest (he sprays it on his gums) but it zonks him out so it’s literally ever only used in dire emergencies where the cause of pain can’t be found or fixed by external means. Using morphine requires he gets blood work after to check on his liver.

Trunks is the only one in the story who grew up with Vegeta in the wheelchair and seeing him being tended to by Bulma whenever his health issues came up, so all his dad’s medical stuff is normal to him. He’s a sweet helper of a kid too and will sometimes ask if he can push Vegeta somewhere.

Actually, Vegeta kinda hates being fussed over, but he feels loved when family does the fussing. If it’s anybody else, though? He gets irritable and embarrassed.

He HATES it if people touch, lean on or move his chair without permission. Gohan makes the mistake of moving the chair exactly one time and learns a really hard lesson to never do it again.

Bulma can sit in the wheelchair without asking when Vegeta isn’t in it, and sometimes she does if she’s sitting at his bedside after he had a medical issue or seizure.

VEGETA’S DISABILITY WILL NOT BE CURED, EVER, NOT EVEN WITH THE DRAGON BALLS.

Vegeta sees his wheelchair as a reminder that he survived something that killed all the other Z-fighters. It’s a source of pride, not shame!

Sometimes he refers to his wheelchair as his throne.

Wheelchair!Vegeta is sexy af.

#Vegeta #DBZ #Cyndi is writing #wheelchair!Vegeta #Mirai timeline AU #fanfic in progress #yes the gif is supposed to be still

[flowerfan2]

Hey friends, I know you’ve probably seen posts go around about how important it is to creators on this site for people to reblog their work.  So I am straight up asking you, pretty please, to reblog this post.  

This chapter features David and Patrick’s first full-on sexytimes since they got back together (after more than three years apart), and mildly angsty hurt/comfort (not at the same time).  I hope you enjoy it!

David x Patrick, 4400 words this chapter, 45k so far.  A03.  Read from the beginning here.  Posts on Fridays.

Chapter 14

It’s Friday, almost two weeks since they arrived in Florida, and four days since David jumped into the pool in an attempt to douse the flames of his surging emotions with chlorinated water.  Patrick never did find out exactly what his mother said to David, but it obviously shook something loose in him, gave him some insight into how Patrick was feeling, enough to help David lower some of his defenses and let Patrick in.

Over the past few days, David has been more physical with Patrick, his hands always sliding down Patrick’s arms, touching the small of his back, finding his hand to tug him along.  It’s like it used to be, back before they broke up, easy and safe and sure.  They haven’t gone any further, still just kissing and being close.  And it’s lovely, it is, but Patrick can’t help hoping for more.  If David’s ready.  Only if David’s ready.

Patrick wants to let David take the lead, this time, given his botched attempt to seduce David the previous week.  And he’s really hoping that tonight will be the night.

While David was working today, Patrick went to the store, wanting to put together a dinner that communicated “I’m totally ready and I think you are too, but it’s fine if you’re not.”  It’s a big ask for a bouquet of flowers and some pasta.

There’s a part of Patrick’s mind that keeps wishing they could have a bottle of wine, or a few fingers of whiskey, and use the socially acceptable crutch of alcohol to ease the way.  But David isn’t drinking, and Patrick not only respects that but knows it’s not a bad idea for himself either.  So they are just going to have to man up and deal with their inhibitions.  It’s a little bit scary when he thinks about it, how many times he’s used alcohol to avoid worrying about sexual encounters which while consensual, he might not have been thrilled about.  This is different, though, and important.  And Patrick can do it, even if spaghetti carbonara might not have the same effect as a good merlot.

Later that night, he thinks that he might not have given the carbonara enough credit.  David has been attentive, hanging over Patrick’s shoulder while he cooked, snatching bites of bacon out of the pan.  They eat at the kitchen island, sideways so that they face each other, knees knocking together.  David’s wearing a camel-colored hoodie with sort of layered sleeves that flow down his arms like a waterfall, but they slide back as he lifts swirls of pasta to his mouth, leaving his forearms bare for Patrick’s enjoyment.

Mariah is playing softly in the background, and David has barely finished his last bite of the meal when he’s surging forward, his mouth slanting over Patrick’s, licking into it and kissing until the taste of cream is merging with the taste of David, eager and hungry for Patrick.  David’s arms go around Patrick’s shoulders and he stands, moving between Patrick’s legs and bringing their bodies close.

Patrick slides his hands around David’s back, feeling his muscles flex under the thin fabric of his sweater.  David hums approval and tilts his head, kissing along Patrick’s jaw and back under his ear.  It feels amazing, like Patrick’s entire body is lit up from the inside, and Patrick lets out an appreciative groan.

David pulls back and Patrick winces.  He’s gone too far.  “Sorry,” Patrick says.  “Sorry.”

“No, wait.”  David grabs his arms as Patrick tries to turn away to clear their plates, wash the dishes, distract himself from the arousal pulsing through him.  “We don’t have to stop,” David says, his eyes bright.  “If you don’t want to.  But we could relocate.”

They stumble down the hallway and fall into to the bed, somehow still clothed, like they forgot the order the steps are supposed to go in.  David grins shyly at Patrick and reaches over to him, unbuttoning his shirt so slowly Patrick thinks he might combust.  David helps him shrug it off, then pulls Patrick’s t-shirt off over his head and kisses softly at his collarbone.  

Patrick leans back and lets himself enjoy the attention, then slides his hands up under David’s sweater.  “Come on, this too.”

David sits up and takes it off, folding it and setting it on the floor.  Then, with a sideways look at Patrick, he takes off his jeans and adds them to the pile.  Patrick quickly does the same, except that he just throws his off the bed.  He doesn’t know how David retains the brain power to care about his clothes at a time like this.

They move together again as they lie down, just their briefs on, still not quite touching.  Patrick runs a finger down David’s chest and follows it with his mouth.  He remembers this with David, remembers the first time he kissed him here, his chest hair tickling his lips.  Patrick lets out a contented sigh, and David wraps his arms around him as he lies back, pulling him over until Patrick’s body is pressing down on him, his hands curled at the sides of David’s head.

Patrick knows how much David likes this.  He always said it made him feel grounded, to have Patrick all around him.  It was another thing that had been new for Patrick, the heaviness of a man’s body on him, and he had taken a little while to get used to it.  But David had never made him feel dumb about it, never made him feel bad, as he learned all the ways that being with David could be so very wonderful and different from what he had experienced before.

They kiss for a while, David’s hands ranging up and down Patrick’s back, caressing his ass and pulling him in firmly against him.  Patrick can’t help but whine at the pressure, his hips thrusting forward.  “God, David,” he murmurs, and David grins into Patrick’s mouth, loops a leg over Patrick’s calf to snug them even closer together.  

Patrick doesn’t want this to end yet, so he flips them over, his ribs twinging in protest, and sits back, straddling David’s legs and smoothing his hands down over his chest.  David is wide eyed and panting, hands finding Patrick’s thighs and holding tight.  Patrick gets his fingers under the waistband of David’s black briefs, and when David nods in agreement, eases them over David’s straining cock.

“It’s polite to stare,” David had said to him years ago, a smile tucked into his cheek, when Patrick couldn’t help but take a moment to examine and admire the sight in front of him.  Patrick does the same now, and then with significantly more grace than the first time he did this, he leans down and takes David in his mouth in one smooth movement.  

David groans and grabs at the sheets, barely keeping himself from arching up into Patrick’s mouth.  “Oh my god, Patrick, warn a guy.”

Patrick slides off with a pop.  “Want me to stop?”

David shakes his head and Patrick sinks back down, loving the weight of David’s cock in his mouth, the feel of it on his tongue.  David is making the most wonderful sounds, every <i>oh</i> working Patrick up too.  Patrick can feel how close David’s getting, and David knows it too, his hand brushing over Patrick’s hair and cheek.  “Wait,” David says, “I’m too - I don’t want to-”

Patrick slurps off of him and sits back, his hands gentling along David’s hips as David sucks in a breath.

“Would you – I’d like you to-” David stutters out, reaching up to pull Patrick down by the back of his neck.  He kisses Patrick, licking into him hard and sloppy and dirty.  “Fuck me, Patrick,” he whispers into his ear.  It’s unfairly sexy, and Patrick has to take a minute to get himself under control before he can even start to contemplate granting David’s request.

It doesn’t take long.  Patrick had rather optimistically left lube in a nearby drawer, and David opens easily for his fingers.  He doesn’t have to stop and check in with David, who is loudly and enthusiastically assuring him of how good he feels every step of the way.  Patrick is pathetically grateful that they had the necessary conversation already (neither of them have been with anyone in ages, both tested, both clean) so there’s no need for a condom.  When Patrick finally pushes in David is shaking and flushed, demanding and lovely.  Soon Patrick starts moving, and David urges him along, hands running up and down Patrick’s back and squeezing his ass in time to his thrusts.

Patrick gets a hand on David’s cock but he’s barely touched it before David is spilling between them, and the agonized pleasure that erupts from David’s throat has Patrick coming a moment later.  David tugs at Patrick’s side and his arm, anywhere he can reach, pulling him close until Patrick’s face is tucked into the side of David’s neck.  

��Love you,” Patrick pants against David’s chin, drawing in deep gulps of air.  “Love you so much.”  

“Mmm, love you too.”  David slides his hand around the side of Patrick’s head, and he holds him close as he kisses him, again and again until it’s just a touch of his lips, dancing along Patrick’s.  Patrick grins into it, happy and overwhelmed in the best possible way.

*****

The weekend is bright and warm, matching the sunshine Patrick can feel pouring out of him whenever he looks at David.  They sleep in on Saturday morning, David forgoing his run in favor of rimming Patrick until he forgets his own name, and then lazily cleaning up with a shower that lasts until lunchtime.

They finally get dressed and drag themselves out of the house, going for a walk at a state park where they get lost among the shrubs and palm trees, David pretending to be upset until Patrick pulls him off the path and gives him a quick handjob that leaves them both giggling with naughty delight.  At night they engage in the tried and true pastime of fucking around on the couch while ignoring a movie, followed by more sex in bed.  By Sunday morning they’re both a little sore, although they muddle through another round of blow jobs just because they can.

As Sunday afternoon comes around, reality starts to set in.  Patrick still doesn’t have a job, he still hasn’t done anything about seeing a therapist, he still doesn’t have anything to offer David except his broken-ass self.  He finds himself whispering his fears to David while they’re curled up together on a lounge chair by the pool, and David strokes his head and offers reassuring words that segue into self-deprecating tales of David’s own trials and tribulations, finally making Patrick laugh so much he almost falls off the chair.

The next day Patrick is at the kitchen island, laptop open, when David comes out of the office.  

“You sent me an email,” David says, his face carefully neutral.

“Yes,” replies Patrick.

“Why are you sending me an email?  I’m right here.”  David puts a hand on his hip.  Patrick wants to grab him and put his own hands there, over David’s soft white sweater, run them down his capri-clad legs, but he’s determined to keep his mind off sex and on business today.

“Did you read it?”

David looks affronted, and possibly nervous.  “Just tell me.”

Patrick does stand up then, and put his hands on David – his arms, not his hips, and he gives him a soft, quick kiss.  “There’s nothing wrong, David.  It’s not a scary email.  I was just sending you my revised resume.”

David relaxes in stages, his body moving towards Patrick even as his face remains uncertain.  “Are you asking me for a job?  Because while I have proven my worth to RMG as far as creative input, I don’t have any hiring authority for any position you would possibly want.  Stevie is really the one you should be asking.”

Patrick laughs and rubs David’s arms.  “No, I’m not asking you for a job.  I wanted you to read over my resume and help me get it ready.”

“Oh.”  David blinks and steps away, looking around and then going to the refrigerator where he stares at the bottles of water.  “Are you sure?”

“Why not?”

David closes the refrigerator without taking anything out.  “I mean, I’m not really good at that kind of thing.”  

“Why would you say that?”

“Well,” David says, “you gave me plenty of shit about not knowing how to describe my store, why do you think I’d be any better at describing anything else?”

Patrick laughs.  “It’s not at all the same.”

“Fine, I’ll read it over, but… you know who you should ask.”

Patrick doesn’t really think that Johnny is the best one to advise him on how to seem relevant, but he has had a wealth of experience.  Still… “I don’t need your dad to know every detail of my lackluster performance over the past few years,” Patrick says.

“My dad?  No, oh no, no, that is not what I meant.  You need Alexis to look at it.”

Patrick doesn’t much like this idea either, if for different reasons.  He goes over to the couch and flops down.  David follows and sits close, his hand gliding over Patrick’s shoulder.

“She’d help you,” David says.  “You guys are good now, I heard you talking with her the other day, when she called and I was coming out of the shower?  She wouldn’t mind.”

“That’s not it,” Patrick says.  “Or, it’s not all of it.”

“Then what?”

Patrick sighs.  “I have to figure out how to explain what happened with my last job, and why I haven’t done anything since.  And why my professional trajectory hasn’t exactly been the most impressive.”

David erupts with laughter, and Patrick glares at him.

“Oh my god, Patrick, have you met her?  It’s like you’re describing Alexis’ most marketable skill.  There is no one better at turning grocery store lemons into rosemary lemonade cocktails than my sister.  I’m calling her right now.”

*****

A few days later Patrick double checks his calendar, grimacing when the entry for his doctor’s appointment shows up that afternoon.  He puts it out of his head for most of the day, and is considering skipping it altogether, when David comes into the living room and tilts his head at him curiously.

“Why aren’t you ready to go?  Google maps says the doctor’s office is twenty minutes away, and you know you should arrive early in case there are forms to fill out.”  David gives him a little wink, probably in acknowledgement of how Patrick feels about filling out forms.

He’s not sure why David thinks he isn’t ready, other than the fact that he’s lounging on the couch like a person with no intention of getting up anytime soon.  Patrick looks himself over.  He’s wearing gray joggers and a green t-shirt.  He’s not <i>not</i> ready.  “I’m not going to change clothes to go to the doctor’s office.  And there’s plenty of time.  No need to kick me out of the house just yet.”

David frowns.  “Studies show that doctors treat well-dressed people better.  Frankly studies show that everyone treats well-dressed people better.”

“I don’t think this particular casually dressed white guy is in any danger of biased treatment.  Plus I’m guessing I won’t be wearing any clothes by the time the doctor sees me.”

“Fine.  But I’m changing, doctor’s offices are always chilly and this sweater is too light.  I’ll be right out.”  David heads off towards the bedroom, and Patrick realizes what this means.  David is coming to the doctor’s office with him.

Later, as they pull into the parking lot of the nondescript medical center, Patrick stops David with a hand on his.  “I appreciate you driving me over, but you don’t have to come in.”

“Do you not want me to come in?”

“It’s not that, it’s just that you don’t have to.”

David sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and considers Patrick.  “What’s going on?”

“What?”

“You wanted me to come to the dentist with you, back when – you know.  You always said you hated doctors’ offices, and you felt better when I came with you.  Has something changed?”  David takes a breath, his eyes going wide.  “Is something wrong?  Is there something you don’t want me to know?”  His hands fly to Patrick’s shoulders, holding tight.

“No, no, there’s nothing wrong.  But it’s just a check-up on the state of my ribs, and how this is healing,” he motions to his head wound.  “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to, that’s all.”

David stares at him for a moment, then gets out of the car and leans down to see Patrick when he doesn’t immediately get out.  “Come on.  Let’s go.”

Patrick walks up to the counter to check in, while David takes a seat in the bland waiting room.  Most of the room is done in shades of tan – the walls, the chairs, the curtains keeping out the bright sunshine.  He watches David silently judging the fake floral arrangements, and the clashing plastic Christmas tree on the corner table.

The receptionist greets him politely enough.  She’s probably wondering why Patrick is here.  They probably don’t get many thirty-somethings, at least not without an elderly parent in tow.  Certainly Patrick has only ever been here before with his mom.  

Patrick has barely sat down next to David when they call his name and he stands back up again.  David looks at him inquiringly, but Patrick shakes his head.  “I’m good.”  It’s one thing to have David come with him, it’s another to need him holding his hand in the examination room.  “Why don’t you go get coffee?  I think there’s a place in that strip mall we passed.”

David smirks.  “Which one?”  He’s not wrong, this stretch of road is nothing but strip malls, all with their own Publix supermarket holding down the fort.  But David sits back and crosses his legs one over the other.  “I’m fine here.  Go.”

Patrick follows the nurse and sits in the examining room where he’s told to wait.  He finds the little tub of citrusy lip balm in his pocket and puts some on, thinking about David ordering a gross of custom product just because Patrick said it smelled like sunshine.  <i>After</i> they broke up.  He breathes it in, letting it distract him from the antiseptic odor of the doctor’s office.

The nurse returns, introduces herself, and directs Patrick to strip down to his briefs and wait, again.  When she reappears she does the expected weighing and measuring (he’s not sure why this couldn’t have been done before he was mostly naked), and then has him sit on the examining table while she asks him a million questions.  

She’s readying a syringe of some type, wrapping an elastic band around his arm and telling him to make a fist, when Patrick suddenly feels the room closing in on him.  His vision narrows to the point of the needle in her hand, and he can’t hear anything over a harsh rushing in his ears.

He can’t breathe, everything is dark and his chest is on fire and he can’t breathe, and he doesn’t know what to do, it all hurts and there’s no air, no air anywhere.  Then there’s something soft and warm against his face, and a hand rubbing his back.

“Hey, Patrick, you’re okay.”  He hears a voice – David – and he holds on, David’s fuzzy black sweater under his fingers, his rumbling chest against his cheek.  “You’re okay, just breathe, honey.  Try to relax and breathe.”

Patrick doesn’t think it’s possible, but he hangs on to David and listens to his voice, presses his face into his body.  He tries to do that breath matching thing but it’s not working, and he thinks madly that David will have to take him to the doctor but then remembers they’re already there, and the pain in his chest and his head threatens to overwhelm him.

“Patrick, can you hear me honey?”  David has one hand on Patrick’s cheek, and the warmth of his chest is gone, and Patrick blinks open his eyes to see David looking at him with eyes full of concern.  “There you are.  Come on, try to take in a deeper breath.  You can do it.”

Seeing David right in front of him, present and worried and as beautiful as ever, somehow seems to help, and Patrick sucks in a stuttering breath.  “That’s it,” David says, somehow proud.  “Another one, now.  Slow.” Patrick tries again, and again, in tune to the rhythm of David’s words and the firm pressure of the circles he’s drawing on his back.

Patrick finally feels like there’s air in his lungs, and he lets himself look away from David.  He’s still in the same room where the nurse brought him, but now David is sitting on the examining table next to him.  He straightens up, David’s hands falling to his waist.  He feels shaky and ill.

“How are we doing?”  Someone in light blue scrubs pokes their head in the door, and Patrick feels his heart thump against his chest.

“I’m fine.” His voice echoes in his head as he speaks.  He’s not convincing anyone.

“Give us another minute, please,” David says firmly, and the door is closed again.  Patrick sags down against David and closes his eyes.  Now that he can breathe again he’s beyond embarrassed, sweaty and miserable, and yet David is still holding him, stroking his back and running a hand over his head.  

“I’m okay, really,” Patrick says a few minutes later.  

David pulls back and considers this.  Patrick doesn’t know what measure he’s using, but David apparently decides that Patrick isn’t going to expire from lack of oxygen, and his shoulders relax slightly.  “Shall we get out of here?  There’s a Dairy Queen half a mile away, and they’ve still got the Girl Scout cookie flavors.”

“Is that what the doctor ordered?”

David rolls his eyes.  “Ice cream is always necessary after a doctor’s appointment.  What, were your parents monsters?”

“You’re telling me Moira took you for ice cream after your doctor’s appointments?”

“Well, someone did.”  David squeezes Patrick’s shoulders encouragingly.  “Come on, I’ll drive.  You can check google for a pizza place.  I think you deserve both.”

“David, as much as I like the sound of your plan, they haven’t examined me yet.”  

David frowns.  “Is it really necessary?”

Patrick wants to say yes, of course, because the doctor he saw in Toronto told him to get checked, just to be sure, in case something isn’t healing right, he always listens to his doctor’s instructions… but what are they going to say?  Gee, looks like you’re healing just fine, must be all of that invigorating sex exercise you’ve been getting?  Maybe they can just bolt out of here after all.

Just then there’s another knock on the door.  The scrubs-clad doctor is tall, with a friendly expression and a head full of curly gray hair, and he waits for their permission before coming into the room.  He has a reassuring demeanor, and he doesn’t say a word about David staying in the room, which is just as well because Patrick can tell from David’s quick inhale that challenging him would lead to some rather snippy responses.

The doctor convinces Patrick to let him do a quick exam.  Patrick agrees, and David slides off the table but stays close, hovering just next to Patrick.  David keeps darting a hand out to touch Patrick, on his shoulder or his arm, and the doctor doesn’t object.

The doctor asks Patrick to stand and go through some movements to assess his range of motion, and Patrick can feel David’s eyes on him as he stretches and bends.  It’s all good, he has hardly any pain, and he’s not surprised when the doctor tells him that he’s healing well.  

When he’s finished, the doctor looks at the two of them, David with his hand on Patrick’s shoulder again, and nods.  “You’re doing just fine, Patrick.  And you’re very lucky, to have someone to count on.”  A shadow passes over his face.  “You remind me of my son.  Good luck to you both.”

The doctor then leaves the room, suggesting that Patrick make an appointment to have his ribs x-rayed in the next few weeks.

David turns to Patrick, eyebrows in motion.  “What do you think that means?  About his son?”

“That I remind him of his son?”  

David shakes his head.  “That look – ugh, I don’t want to know.  But it’s not good.”

Patrick gets dressed while David pretends to read a poster on the wall about cardiovascular health, and then they check out.  

“Does the doctor know how you got hurt?”  David asks as he slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors before he pulls out of the parking lot.

“I don’t know.  The nurse didn’t ask.”

“I suppose fractured ribs and a head wound tell their own story.”

They drive in silence, and Patrick wonders what happened to the doctor’s son.  If it was something like what happened to him.  The comment, along with how accepting the doctor was of David being all over Patrick during the exam, makes him think the answer is yes.  It’s a reminder that even while he and David are holed up in their little bubble, taking shelter from reality in their comfortable suburban nest, the world keeps on moving along.

He’s surprised when they pull up to the Dairy Queen, although he really shouldn’t be.  David doesn’t joke about dessert.  They debate their options for a few minutes with a seriousness he doubts most people would appreciate when considering what candy to swirl into soft serve.  Despite the presence of the Thin Mints Blizzard, David decides on one with raspberries and chocolate pieces, and Patrick picks peanut butter cup.  

Later that night, curled up safe in bed with David’s arms around him, Patrick thinks back on the doctor’s words.  He is very lucky – immensely lucky - to have David to count on now, and the terrible irony is that if Patrick hadn’t been beat up and then fled to Florida to nurse his wounds, he might still be alone.

#David x Patrick #Schitt's Creek #Schitt's Creek fic #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #SC fic

[honestsycrets]

The Exchange | [ Hvitserk x Reader ]

❛ pairing | hvtiserk x reader

❛ type | drabbley-oneshot

❛ summary | something about her makes him do something stupid-- but he’s only just met her.

❛  warnings | arranged marriage, mention of trades. 

“Stop that--” 

The two brothers walk down a long corridor. Hvitserk bends his head closer to his brother, grinning ear to ear. Light filters in between the planks of the roof,

“Think she’s pretty?” Hvitserk asks, hopping to turn in front of Ivar. His brother wears a scowl, annoyed that Hvitserk would ask such a thing. Probably because he was conned into this deal-- because he arranged this crackshit deal for his brother.

“What do I know?” Ivar jabs at the ground. “You wanted to see her. You marry her.” 

Hvitserk throws his arms back, the leather of his forearms running against each other, and his soft chestnut hair. “If she isn’t--” 

“No, Hvitserk. What was it that you said… right. ‘Wait-- stop! I want to see her,’ now she’s yours.” Ivar raises his other hand to his shoulder, where Hvitserk had punched and cracked his bone, which yet still was sore and painful. They come to a stop in front of the tall doors, shut uptight, with two guards standing there at attention outside the door. Hvitserk drops his hand, peering to the inky black hall behind him. With a hiss, the door in front squeaks open. 

Oleg steps out, running his hands together. His dull stare pierces through Hvitserk, the source of his irritation. “Well,” he holds the door open, first for Hvitserk, then Ivar who follows after. “She’s inside.” 

Hvitserk bounces forward despite the fact that his brother has a sneer, turning around to speak to Oleg, not at all bothering with looking at his sister-in-law-to-be. Which is fine because... he doesn’t want Ivar getting any wicked ideas. Not after last time. No, this is to make up for that-- and that is probably partially why Ivar agreed. 

“You’re Hvitserk.” 

He jerks to the side. Beside him, a phantom, with long hair tumbling past her waist. She’s shorter than him, but has a feisty look in her eyes. Well-- he was right. She was beautiful donned in a rich dress, arms folded over with fur on top of fur. He shifts, slightly to the left where Oleg and Ivar were discussing formalities. 

“Uh,” he bends into a nod. “And you’re… going to be my wife? What’s your name?” 

You say your name, cut short, snappy. Your ringed fingers run together, nose scrunching up cute. “You’re the one who bought me.” 

“Bought--” he laughs. “I didn’t buy you.” 

“What else do you call it when you exchange a life for the price of another?” 

His face, completely lost from what she meant, turns toward Ivar. With a great sigh, you turn away from him. Perhaps believing that it was pointless, you fluttered your eyelashes together to suppress what he interprets as tears. 

“Wait-- Your brother?” he asks, stopping you by setting his hand upon your the white fur on your shoulder. Without speaking, you nod. Normally, he wouldn’t care what his brother did. But he’s reminded of last time. 

Hvitserk’s head rolls, and his jaw clicks as he twists his teeth together with a loud grind. “Okay,” he mutters, and makes his way toward Ivar and Oleg. 

“That quick?” Ivar says to him. Hvitserk grips his brother’s shoulder, guiding him away from Oleg, minding the fact that they’re being watched by what is left of Oleg’s great army. Hvitserk set the palm on top of the pommel of his sword. Bowing his head and lifting it again, he spoke. 

“What are you going to do with him, Ivar?” 

“With who?” 

Hvitserk leers out the corner of his eye. From that alone, Ivar already knows what he’s about to say. “He has to die. What if he comes back?” 

Not that Hvitserk was doing to deny that much, but given how you stood, caressing your arm, he knew that would destroy any opportunity he had in this marriage. “You can make a friend of him.” 

“We tried that. Men like us don’t have friends.” Ivar jabs his crutch down, hobbling closer. He leans in, nice and close, cheeks touching. “What do I tell him?” 

“Tell him we are family.” 

“Family,” he tsks. Yes-- it’s not as if that nasty scar piercing across his cheek wasn’t from Bjorn and Ubbe. “She’s his favourite sister. What would he do to bring her back home?” 

Hvitserk doesn’t have the answer to that. Neither does Ivar, who gazes at the other men there, debating what he might say until he relents. Maybe it’s for forgiveness. Maybe its Ivar’s growing headache with his brother. 

“I’ll take care of it.” 

Like that, Ivar takes his own guards and slips out, motioning for Oleg to follow with. With that, at least a portion of him feels a little more settled, and he turns to find you standing not far behind-- watching not far behind. Your hands clasp, in front of the silver thread that makes up your beautiful dress.

“You did that for me?” 

Yeah, he mutters. He supposes he did. Your eyes flutter to his hands. They’re nicked with the battle, and still you take them, hold them nice and tight. “I don’t know much about heathen weddings.” 

“Don’t expect you to.” 

“I’m Christian. I won’t convert for you.” 

“I know that.” Hvitserk scoffs, tugging lightly, and he brings you close enough for your breath to puff against the hairs that pepper above his thin lips. 

“Well--” you lean in, catching him by surprise. When you kiss him, its a soft glide against his chapped lips and a partial smile catches on his lips until you pull away. “--when’s the wedding?” 

Hvitserk laughs. 

“How about now?” 

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol​ @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071​ @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff​ @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @belovedcherry @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

#Hvitserk x Reader #Hvitserk/Reader #hvitserk's heathen feast #hvitserk x y/n #hvitserk imagines #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk ragnarsson x reader #vikings imagines #viking imagines #vikings x reader

[thesurprisinglyqueertoast]

PSA for Able Bodied People:

Mobility Aid Use That Isn't Constant

This post is specifially for able bodied people, and if any other disabled person has any corrections or additions or anything else I fully welcome them. I may be disabled but I in no way, shape, or form am trying to speak over people or for people that don't want it.

This is also not meant to be an attack against anybody, but if you're feeling attacked by it, it's something you definitely need to read and learn.

Many of us disabled people need mobility aids (wheelchair, forearm crutches, cane, walker, etc.), but what able bodied people oftentimes don't recognize is that not everyone needs to use it all the time. I, for example, currently rarely use mobility aids, and only need them when I'm going to be moving for a long period of time with no adequate time to rest. Someone else might only need their mobility aid outside the house. Others only need them in the later half of the day when they have less energy, while some only use them for certain activities or some days.

We use mobility aids when we need them, or when it would let us do more without leaving us feeling awful for days after. Yes, someone might be able to get around without any aid, but the amount of stress, pain, and effort it would take is absolutely unnecessary.

Lets say one day in the summer you needed something from outside quickly and didn't have time to put any footwear on. You dash across the hot concrete to avoid it hurting your feet too much, and get back inside without much trouble. Your feet hurt some, but it's gone after a little while. Imagine the next day you plan for a walk around the block. Your neighbor sees that you're wearing shoes this time, and yells at you asking why you need shoes today but didn't wear them yesterday to grab that thing from your car. You tell him that the pavement is very hot and more than a minute or so would burn your feet and leave you in pain for days. He scoffs at you and says you're just faking needing shoes.

Ridiculous, right?

While technically you could take those cookies out of the oven without oven mitts, it would be much easier, safer and quicker to just put on some oven mitts. You don't Need the oven mitts to get your cookies, but you Should use them anyway.

This last example is solely for helping more people understand, and absolutely not comparing any disabled person to a toddler or infantilizing them in any way. Let's say you're with a friend in the park with her toddler. She is pushing a stroller while he walks a bit ahead, having fun on your walk to the playground area. After he's played enough there, the three of you head back home. This time though, your friend's toddler is in the stroller as he is too worn out to walk back. You wouldn't mock your friend for letting her toddler be pushed in the stroller when she could make him walk, that would be absolutely horrible of you and mean to the toddler. She brought the stroller for a reason, and it would be cruel of her to force her toddler to walk when it would clearly be in his best interest to be pushed.

Judging or verbally attacking a disabled person because you think "they're not disabled" because they "don't need that mobility aid, they walked earlier don't you know" is absolutely not okay. We know our own limits and disabilities, and it is NEVER your job to question it. If you're a stranger, please just leave us alone. We're tired of harassment. If you're not a stranger, don't ask us why we only sometimes need the mobility aid. If you're concerned because it's rare that we use it, personally, at least, I'd be okay with you asking something like "Hey, I just noticed that you're using [x mobility aid] which is a change from normal, is there anything that I could do to make things easier and more accessible for you?" Please do not ask us to explain unless you explicitly know that we're comfortable with it.

If you are with a child that is curious: many of us would rather you say "Excuse me, could [child] ask you about your mobility aid? They've never seen one before, and I don't want to tell them something that might be wrong." If we say no, do not press it. You could instead tell the child "Some people use [x mobility aid] because it helps them get around easier."

Please teach them that it is important to give us a little more space because both us and the child would get hurt if we ran into each other. Teach them to be especially careful around wheel chairs, as they are hard to stop quickly and if the person does have to stop quickly, it isn't safe for them. Teach them to always be respectful of our space, and to never try to help unless they ask and get a yes.

tl;dr

Some people only use mobility aids sometimes and you should never harass them or question them about it. Give us respect.

#mobility aids #disability #psa #ramblings #actuallydisabled

[whileyoursleeping]

Grand Gestures

Prompt: we know buck was for grand gestures while he was in a relationship with Abby i.e. the hot air balloon what if he tried something similar with Eddie and Christopher either before or after they were dating and maybe he doesn't even realize it until someone asks him didn't he try doing that before and looking back maybe he has been doing some sorta date like outings with the Diaz boys huh like swan boat rides and mini golf then on a different day watching the sunset or like a picnic too lol

first things first: i’m sorry this took so long. secondly: this prompt got absolutely and wildly out of hand

 -------------------------------

The thing is, when he's not working, Buck's got about ten brain cells and they're evenly divided up between researching random facts, working out, and loving his friends.

So he doesn't think things through. It's endearing, right? Mostly? At least after he cooled his jets a little and got out of his Buck 1.0 phase, he thinks it might've become endearing. His fire family joke about him being a golden retriever more times than he cares to count and he'd never admit it but they're probably right.

So he doesn't think about it when he starts taking the Diaz boys places.

He and Eddie have had a rough shift. It's sort of a rough shift in a line of weirdly rough shifts and they're both beaten down, and when Buck picks Chris up from school one day and Chris says, "Bucky, why is Daddy sad?" Buck immediately has to fix it.

He plans a day feeding giraffes at a zoo. Normally his go-to is the pier, but, well, that seems like tempting fate.

"I'm coming over," he announces to Eddie, early on a Saturday morning.

"Okay," Eddie's voice comes, sleepily. "Will you make pancakes?"

Buck's heart swells. He couldn't ever say no. Just thinking about Christopher's face lighting up at the surprise makes him want to drive faster.

When he gets to the Diaz residence, he lets himself in and immediately busies himself in the kitchen, making pancakes. For all Eddie is an amazing firefighter and dad, he's really bad at cooking, and the only reason there are even ingredients around is because Buck leaves them here.

When Christopher stumbles into the room ten minutes later, his face lights up. "Buck, Buck!" he cries, and Buck grins as he leans down and suddenly has an armful of eight year old.

"Hey, buddy!"

"Dad didn't say you were coming! DADDY, BUCK'S HERE!"

Kid has a set of pipes, and Buck almost winces at the volume. "Chris, can you set the table?" he asks.

"Yes!" Chris heads for the drawers and begins laying out plates and cutlery, just as Eddie wanders into the room, shirtless and wearing a pair of sweatpants that have been cannibalised into shorts. He looks surprised to find himself in the kitchen.

"You're actually making pancakes," he says, amazed. "Dios te amo, Buck."

Buck flushes, unsure if he's feeling suddenly flustered because of Eddie speaking Spanish to him or because Eddie isn't wearing a shirt. "Yeah," he mumbles shyly. "You asked."

Eddie smiles, and it's a little soft and sleepy around the edges, and for a moment Buck feels the weight of the last few shifts lift from his shoulders, and like they've gone back to real normal after the lawsuit. "Gracias a dios por ti," he says.

Does Eddie know what Spanish does to him? It isn't fair either way.

They sit down for pancakes, and Buck immediately sets to cutting Chris's into pieces so Eddie can focus on eating. He's losing the hunted expression he's worn for the last few days, and Buck's proud of himself for that at least.

"So," Eddie yawns, after they've sent Christopher to get dressed. "Not that I mind, but why're you here?"

Despite Eddie's words, and how warm and kind he's been this morning, Buck feels a little anxious suddenly about overstepping his boundaries. "Um," he says. "Well I - I can go if it's not a good time-"

"Buck," Eddie says, gently, and reaches across the table to grab his forearm. "I like having you here. So what's going on?"

Bolstered a little by Eddie's words, Buck smiles. "It's a surprise," he says. "But you should get dressed."

Eddie doesn't like giving up control, Buck knows, but the man only shrugs as he gets up from the table and heads towards his bedroom. While he's gone, Buck takes the dishes to the sink and gets a headstart on them. His mama might not have taught him much, but one thing he did learn is that it's rude to leave dishes in someone else's sink.

"Buck," Eddie's voice says. "You cooked."

"I don't mind," Buck says, mouth drying as he turns to find Eddie in the doorway, wearing a pair of light blue jeans that hug his legs and the white henley he once had on when dragging Buck out of bed. "Um, you look nice."

Eddie's smile only widens. "So do you."

Whatever weird moment they're having, it's shattered when Chris yells, "I'm ready, I'm ready!" and leaves his bedroom on crutches, moving with speed only a motivated eight-year-old has.

~*~

If Buck is a little distracted on the way to the zoo, it's only because he's thinking about how excited Christopher will be, and not because he's analysing hit outfit choice after Eddie's comment.

When they pull up, Eddie's looking out the windshield at the gates with an unreadable expression. "Too much?" Buck asks nervously, as Christopher whoops with glee in the backseat.

"He's wanted to come for ages," Eddie says quietly. "How'd you know?"

"I didn't," Buck admits, "I guessed, but it's been a rough week so I figured something fun would be nice."

That expression doesn't leave Eddie's face, leaving Buck feeling a little nervous as they unpack Chris from the backseat. Eddie ends up with his backpack, as Christopher proclaims his desire to ride on Buck's shoulders his time.

The kid isn't heavy, and it's not like Buck hasn't ever carried him. Still, it's a cool day and his crushed leg aches a little, which Eddie seems to realise as they walk through the park, with Christopher pointing out all the animals to them.

"Your leg okay?" Eddie asks.

Buck thought he was better at covering the limp by now. Apparently not. Eddie was there during his recovery, and Buck's worked really hard at not limping even when he is in pain, but the added weight on his shoulders makes it hard.

"It's okay," Buck says.

"If he's too heavy-"

"He's not," Buck rushes to say, squeezing Chris's shins where they sit around his chest. The kid is holding onto his collar with one hand, the other pointing and waving. "He's not too heavy."

"Okay," Eddie says, slowly, "but I'm buying lunch."

They sit down in the restaurant to eat overpriced fish and chips, and Christopher and Buck trade facts about the animals and ponder which ones would make the coolest hybrids. "Did you know you can make Pokemon hybrids?" Christopher asks.

"No way, can you?"

"Yeah! I'll show you!"

Buck willingly passes over his phone, and he and Chris spend most of lunch giggling over the strange combinations they can make. Eddie watches on, eating quietly, only ever interrupting to ask them a question.

Just past twelve, Buck herds them out to the giraffe enclosure. "Wanna see the giraffes?" he asks Chris.

"Yeah! They're tall like you!"

He laughs, and says, "how 'Bout really up close?"

His heart swells too big for his chest at the shout of joy Christopher gives, and he spends the next half hour feeling like he'll choke on it while they feed the giraffes, with Christopher taking to the baby one in particular. By the time they leave, it's past two, and Chris - who's been awake since seven - has fallen asleep in Buck's arms.

Buck straps him into his seat as Eddie loads the car up with everything from the zoo's gift shop and the photos they took feeding the giraffes. When both car doors close, it's quiet for a moment.

"Thank you," Eddie says quietly.

"I hope I didn't overstep," Buck says quickly. "Maybe it was something you two wanted to do together-"

"I've wanted to bring him for ages," Eddie sighs, "only between physical therapy, rent, bills, Carla, and everything else, I haven't had the time or the money. You didn't overstep."

Buck relaxes a little, feels warm. "Glad I could help."

~*~

Chris is still sleeping when they get to Eddie's, and Buck's the one tasked with bringing everything in while Eddie tucks him into bed. It's early, but there's no harm in letting the kid get some extra sleep, especially when he still occasionally has nightmares about the tsunami.

It's an exhaustion Buck can relate to.

He brings everything in, putting things on the table quietly before going back to shut up his truck. He's limping again - slow walking, especially with an eight year old on his shoulders most of the day, seems to cause his injury to flare up more than almost anything else.

"You okay, Buck?"

He smiles at Eddie. "I'm okay."

"Be honest," Eddie says, in his patented Dad Voice. "I can see you limping."

Eddie's concern feels foreign, especially after the lawsuit and the admittedly still strained relationship they share at times. Buck doesn't push, doesn't ask for anything, and is content just being able to be back in Eddie's life. It's still weird, but he's happy.

"Uh," Buck says. "It hurts a little sometimes. When it's cold. Today was just lots of walking, that's all. I'll down some Tylenol and I'll be okay."

"How about you stay?" Eddie asks. "Rest up before heading home. I'll find you some Tylenol."

Buck - who hasn't felt this wanted for a long time - can't even argue.

~*~

The next time they have a rough call, Buck plans a day out on a river boat. The time after that is a beach picnic, and after that, mini golf.

Every time something really bad happens on a call, Buck rushes to fix it. It's after one of these calls, when he's only halfway out of his fire kit and already looking up fun places to be in winter in L.A, that Hen says,

"Back at it with grand gestures, Buckaroo?"

He looks up, blinks. "What?"

She looks almost sympathetic. "The grand gestures?" she asks. "Didn't you already try this with Abby, baby?"

"Abby?" Buck feels about ten steps behind. "Grand gestures?"

Hen is like a mom slash sister to him, and she patiently explains, "The hot air balloon you organised for Abby when her mom was sick? Isn't that why you're taking Eddie and Christopher out on all these dates?"

Dates? Abby? Eddie? Hen's drawn a parallel between Eddie and Abby? Dates?

"Oh fuck," Buck says.

"He didn't know," Chim says, who's just entered the room. "Way to break it to him, Hen."

"I've been wooing Eddie," he realises aloud, a sense of panic creeping up on him.

"Wooing?" Chimney asks.

"Yes you have, Buck," Hen replies patiently.

"When did I start doing that?!"

"I think it was the Ferris wheel," Chimney supplies helpfully.

"No, it was the zoo, when they fed the giraffes," Hen counters. "That was the first one."

"Wait, how come I'm the last person to realise this?!" Buck demands. "You guys knew I was - and you didn't - what?"

"You've done it before," Hen says, very reasonably. "We just figured you were doing it again, only with Eddie."

"Eddie's a man!"

"So we've noticed," Chimney says.

"A beautiful man, though," Hen points out. "He's definitely in my "if I was straight" column."

"You have a column?" Chimney asks.

Hen suddenly looks at Buck. "Oh," she says. "This isn't about Eddie, is it? You didn't actually know that you were trying to date a man. Oh, that's what this is about."

"Buck," Chimney sighs.

"I can't help it, okay! I've been straight for twenty seven years!" Buck is undeniably panicking, because if he was going to have a sexual crisis this late in life why did it have to be about Eddie, of all people?

"First time for everything," Chimney says cheerfully. "Try not to panic, Buck. I don't think you've got anything to worry about."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Buck demands.

Before he can get an answer, Bobby walks in, takes in the sight of them - Hen and Chimney, grinning from ear to ear, and Buck, red-faced, flustered, and half undressed, and says slowly, "What's going on here? Buck? Are you alright?"

"Eddie's a man," Buck says, and flees the room, ignoring the peals of laughter behind him and Cap's stunned face.

He's so flustered he forgets to continue researching activities for all of them to do.

~*~

Buck lays off the grand gestures for a bit, thoroughly and completely freaking out.

He doesn't care much about being into dudes all of a sudden, because it doesn't seem like much to worry about in the grand scheme of things - he still loves and wants to bang women - it's the Eddie factor that's got him all confused.

So he sort of hides and doesn't say or do anything that could make Eddie think that Buck's got any untoward intentions, and if he trips over himself more than once trying to escape being literally no feet away from Eddie, well, that's his business.

~*~

Because he's Buck, and because some cosmic entity hates him and personally fucks with him at least once a month, things do not travel smoothly for him after his Hen-enforced I've Been Wooing Eddie Diaz (and possibly his son) realisation.

They have a call-out to an apartment fire that has decimated at least two floors, and Buck's whole body is pounding with adrenaline before they even get there, wiring him for action. This is what he lives for - the rush, the victory at the end. Lately, they haven't had many wins.

He's sent in to level three, which is maybe the second most on fire part of the complex, and he manages to find three people before he goes back for a fourth.

This is when the shit hits the fan, of course.

"Got another one, Cap!" he says into his radio, and he's just beginning to herd the woman out when the floor crackles ominously beneath him.

"Oh my God," she whimpers.

"Go!" Buck yells, and pushes her to the window. "Towards the window, Eddie will-"

The floor cracks, and she takes off, right before the entire foundation beneath him crumbles and sends him crashing through to the second floor.

Miraculously, he maintains consciousness, but he feels a rib give as he hits a hard wooden coffee table on the floor below and then goes through it. His breathing apparatus has stopped working from the impact, and there's smoke filling his lungs.

Buck's not dumb. He's got a few minutes at most to try and make it out of this fire, has to hope that the stairwell isn't blocked off. He wraps a tea towel from the kitchen around his face to stave off as much of the smoke as he can, drops to the floor, and begins to feel his way out blindly.

He finds the front door, he thinks, lies on his back to kick it open. His lungs are filling with smoke. His head pounds, and it's so hot, and he can hardly see or hear anything.

Hands on his back, rolling him over, pulling him up. He knows enough to cling, feels a strong set of shoulders under his arm and knows instinctively that it's Eddie.

"Sacrificado cabrón," Eddie swears.

"Whatever that means," Buck gasps, "I'm guessing it's not nice."

They're outside, and the air is blessedly cool. Eddie deposits Buck fairly non-ceremoniously onto a backboard, where Hen and Chim are immediately fussing over him, calling out his stats and getting a mask over his face.

His helmet is pulled off, along with his fire resistant jacket. They're checking for burns - temperatures that hot, your own sweat can turn to steam and burn you inside your clothes - and the oxygen flows through the mask, sweet and relieving and cool against his throat and lungs.

"Easy, Buckaroo," Hen says gently. "We got you."

He nods. Eddie's face appears over his. He's soot-darkened and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, and Buck could swear he looks almost pale underneath all the grime.

"Idiota," Eddie mutters.

"Rude," Buck replies, and still considers it worthwhile when he starts to cough.

"How's he looking?" Bobby asks.

Hen turns. "He'll be okay, Cap," she says, smiling with relief. "He inhaled some smoke and he might have a few bruises, but he's alright enough to be talking smack with Eddie. We'll take him to hospital just to be sure, though."

Buck groans. "No," he says. "I'm sick of-"

The looks of the entire crew silence him, and he shrinks back into the backboard meekly. "Okay," he mumbles.

~*~

Buck has one broken rib and several bruised ones, plus all the external bruising he suffered from the fall, but there's no concussion, no lacerations, all his organs are where they're supposed to be, and with pain medication, he feels better, so the hospital deems him disgustingly healthy and decides to send him home.

He's in bed, waiting for a change of clothes, when the door opens, revealing Eddie. Buck is pleased to see him for all of a second, until he notices the thunderous expression on Eddie's face.

"Hi," he says, thinking maybe this will be movie-levels of epic and Eddie will be so relieved to see that he's alright he'll forget to be angry and sweep Buck into his arms and kiss him and maybe take him-

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

When has life ever been movie-levels of stellar for Buck, after all?

"There was still someone in there," Buck argues. "Eddie, I was just doing my job. Nobody told me not to go in there."

Eddie laughs hysterically, which sounds dangerous, and says, "What am I supposed to tell Christopher if you die?"

Buck opens his mouth, then closes it. Shannon's death still haunts Eddie, and Buck has to tread carefully with what he says, he knows that. Telling Eddie he isn't going to die won't make the guy feel any better.

"He needs you," Eddie says, pacing up and down now. "I need you. Stop being so reckless."

"I can't." Buck feels like he's getting scolded for stealing cookies from the jar. "It's my job, Eddie. We knew the risks going in."

"Would you have gone in if you'd known the floor would collapse?" Eddie asks.

Buck looks at him evenly. He loves Eddie, which he's sort of come to accept, and he wants Eddie in his life and wants, more than anything, for the ever-present cloud of his lawsuit to fuck off so that things can go back to normal. This might fracture their relationship again, but Buck can't lie.

"Yes," he says.

The fight seems to go out of Eddie, then - his shoulders slump. He's hardly even showered enough to get the grime off. "Okay," he replies.

He puts a bag at Buck's feet. "I got you your clothes," he says tiredly. "A change. They said you're getting released."

"Yeah," Buck mumbles.

They're silent while Buck changes, his chest throbbing a little and his heart heavy. Things are never going to go back to the way they were - he knows that now. He's going to spend the rest of their relationship on the back foot, trying to make up for everything, trying to make the Diaz boys happy. He finally screwed up too badly to just pay up - he's racked up debt now.

Eddie waits for Buck to get changed before offering a curt, "I'll see you," and taking his leave.

Buck sighs. Good thing he texted Maddie to pick him up.

~*~

The great thing about hospitals is the hospital-grade painkillers he gets given.

The not-so-great thing about hospitals is getting released with about four hundred tiny holes from IV medication in his arms, a sense of exhaustion from not quite sleeping right, and the painkillers wearing off, leaving him in pain and miserable.

His broken rib hurts, and he's still coughing from the irritation to his lungs. His leg throbs, because any fall he takes now jars the rod and pins in it, and on top of all that, he's miserable with the thought that he's fucked things up with Eddie.

It meant a lot, to have the Diaz boys in his life. They were like family to Buck.

He's woken from a nap to a knock on the door and has to ease himself off the couch, wincing as he limps to the front door. It's probably some kind of marketing something but Buck always feels bad for not answering if he's here.

He opens the door without looking, mumbling a short, "Hello, I'm not-"

Eddie looks up at him, smiling a little. "Hey, Buck."

Buck blinks. "Hi," he says.

Eddie's eyes rake over him, taking in the bruises on Buck's face and arms, of the way he's a little hunched to try and ease some pressure off his ribcage. "You look like shit."

Buck snorts. "That's real nice of you, Eddie. Come here to say that?"

"No," Eddie says, and takes a deep breath. "I brought pizza. And snacks."

Sure enough, there's a grocery bag hanging from his left arm and a pizza box balanced in the other. Buck blinks.

"It's not a grand gesture or anything," Eddie admits quietly. "I don't really have the resources for that. But I haven't seen you in a  while, outside work anyway. Whenever we had a bad shift you'd take us out to make us feel better. I thought it was my turn."

Just like that, Buck feels a whole lot better, like his ten off-duty braincells have exploded into little heart emojis. Eddie Diaz, who he's pretty much in love with, brought him pizza because Buck's hurt.

Without thinking, he steps forward and wraps his arms around Eddie happily. He's taller, but not so much that he can't tuck his face into the crook of Eddie's shoulder and say, "I've really missed you, Eddie."

He swears Eddie is blushing against him, even as hugs Buck back. "Lo siento," he says quietly.

"That's not fair," Buck complains. "I don't understand that."

"I said I'm sorry," Eddie says.

"It's alright," Buck says earnestly, stepping back to let Eddie in and shutting the door.

"It's not," Eddie says. "I haven't been good to you at all. I shouldn't have yelled at you for doing your job. But I was scared and I let it get the better of me. You should hold me accountable for being shitty, Buck."

"But you apologised, so it's fine," Buck replies.

Eddie stares up at him, then smiles. "It really is that easy with you, huh?"

"Yes?" Buck asks sheepishly, and Eddie laughs.

"C'mon. The pizza is getting cold."

~*~

Chris is with abuela, Eddie explains, once they've demolished the pizza and they're moving onto the snacks. He didn't want to overtax Buck if he's in pain.

Buck is in pain, but it's not as bad with Eddie sitting with him on the couch, pressed up against him. "You disappeared," Eddie says.

"I did?" He knows he did, but sometimes a combination of playing dumb and puppy dog eyes gets him out of trouble.

"Yeah. We stopped hanging out. Why's that?"

Eddie sounds like he knows and Buck is nervous as hell. "I, um-"

Eddie's hand lands on his thigh - his upper thigh - and Buck's brain short circuits. "You're a man," he blurts.

Eddie's eyebrows crease. "As far as I'm aware, yeah."

"You're a man and I used to do this stuff with Abby, I'd take her out to amazing places and then Hen and Chim pointed out that I'm taking you places and how that worked out for me last time-"

"Buck," Eddie says, squeezing his thigh, "slow down."

Buck takes a deep breath. "I was trying to woo you only I didn't realise," he mumbles nervously, "and I'm really sorry because I didn't realise that's what I was doing but I totally was and Hen and Chim pointed it out to me and I got nervous and I didn't want to mess things up so I stopped asking you to go places so that I wouldn't have to try and-"

"Remember what I said about slow?" Eddie teases. "You didn't mess anything up, Buck."

That doesn't sound right. He feels confused.

Eddie laughs a little. "Dios, Buck. I've liked you since the moment we worked on getting that live grenade out of the guy when I started at the 118."

Buck blinks. That also doesn't sound right.

Eddie turns to face him on the couch. "I know Abby left you," he explains, quietly, and Buck finds himself suddenly blinking back tears. "I know that even after everything she left you and it broke your heart. But I'm not Abby, Buck. I'm a sure thing."

Buck's heart does this funny thing where it thumps twice, and then Eddie is taking his face in his hands and kissing him softly, and Buck kisses back, because he's wanted this for so long he doesn't remember starting. It feels like a dream.

"I might not be," he explains, brokenly, when they separate. His voice sounds small.

Eddie frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I want this, Eds," Buck admits. "But what if I let you down? What if - what if I let Chris down?" His voice wobbles. "I already have. Doesn't matter where I go, someone seems to get hurt. I couldn't protect Maddie from Doug, and I couldn't protect Chris in the tsunami - then the lawsuit, and..."

"You saved Chris," Eddie says quietly. "You found Maddie. The lawsuit sucked, yeah. But you did it to get back to us, and I was a real asshole about that too, Buck. I'm willing to try if you are."

He remembers, then, speaking to an elderly man about his husband and their life together - "I hope someday I find something like that," he'd said, and the old man had replied, "You don't find it, son. You build it" and here it is. This is his chance to build something.

"Okay," he says, and Eddie's face lights up like Chris's does when Buck makes pancakes or tucks him in or surprises him. The Diaz boys will almost definitely be the end of him, and he's okay with that.

"We can't tell Chim and Hen," Buck mumbles as Eddie pulls him into another kiss. "They'll gloat for months."

Eddie smiles against his mouth, pushes Buck lightly to crawl between his legs and lie on top of him, a thrilling, heavy, muscular weight that Buck isn't familiar with just yet. "Worth it," he mumbles, his hands on Buck's face tipping his head up. "So worth it."

#buddie #evan buckley x eddie diaz #otp: there's no one i trust more with my son than you #nibbles writes things

[firstdegreefangirl]

“Please Don’t Close Your Eyes” - Buck Week Day Three

Pairing: Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1)

Word Count: 853

Original Pub Date: 25 March 2020

Read here on Ao3

“Buck, Evan, hey, no, baby, no. C’mon, you heard the doctor. You know the rules. Look at me. Look here, look at my eyes. You’ve gotta stay awake.”  

Evan is kneeling next to Buck, who’s lying on their bed when he hears the front door open and Pepa call out that she and Chris are back from the pharmacy. He’s just gotten Buck to turn his head and look at him, but he’s still blinking too slowly, longer and longer each time.  

“C’mon, Buck, gotta stay with me.” Eddie squeezes his shoulder as he hears the tell-tale clacking of Christopher’s crutches coming down the hall.

“Psst! Daddy!” He stops in the doorway and whispers loudly across the room. “Does Bucky’s head still hurt?”

“Yeah, it does, kiddo. He got brained pretty hard, so it’s gonna hurt him for a few days. But we’ll help him feel better, won’t we?” Eddie looks at Christopher, at how worried he looks as he stares at Buck, and turns back to whisper to Buck. “Eyes open, hear me? Don’t think just ‘cause I turn my back for two seconds that you can go and fall asleep on me.”  

He climbs off the bed and makes his way over to kneel down in front of Christopher. “Hey, he’s gonna be OK, Chris. He’s got a concussion, so he’s going to have a really bad headache, and he’ll be really sleepy. But we’ve got to make sure he stays awake so that his brain can keep working. Think you can help me with that? I have to go talk to Pepa for a minute, so can you stay with Buck, make sure he doesn't fall asleep?”

Christopher thinks for a second, then nods.  

“Yeah! I can tell him all about the lady who brought her working dog to the pharmacy with her!”  

“Alright, Superman.” Eddie can’t help but chuckle as he hoists Chris up and onto the bed next to Buck. “You tell Bucky your stories, and watch close that he doesn't close his eyes. I’ll be right back.”  

Eddie leaves the door open as he heads for the living room, Chris’s animated chatter fading out the further down the hall he gets, but still audible in the background. He quickly thanks Pepa for helping him out, both by having Christopher out of the house long enough for him to get Buck settled in, and by saving him the trip to CVS to stock up on Advil and Gatorade. She gives him a long hug, and a pat on the arm, before she leaves, but it’s easy to see how worried he is about his boyfriend down the hall, so she doesn’t hang around too long.  

He’s quiet on his way back to the bedroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of his son interacting with Buck. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite things to see, how well the two of them get along. Sometimes he supposes it’s because Buck isn’t that far from being a very tall, firefighter-certified 8-year-old himself, but that doesn’t make it any less endearing.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he sees as the doorway comes back into view. Instead of being seated by Buck’s legs, where Eddie had situated him, Chris has moved to lay beside him, resting his head on Buck’s abdomen. He’s petting Buck’s forearm, and just finishing up telling him how you can’t pet the dogs wearing special vests, because they’re working very hard and can’t be distracted.  

Then he stops talking, and turns his head to stare up at Buck’s face.

“Bucky,” it’s just this side of a whine, but Eddie’s been around Christopher long enough to know that he’s trying not to cry. “Please don’t close your eyes. Daddy says your brain won’t work if you’re asleep, and I need your brain to help me with my science homeworks.”

His heart clenches, and Eddie can’t stand to hear his son sound so scared.

“He’s not falling asleep, Chris. He knows better than to do that.” Eddie makes his presence known, entering the room and joining them on the bed. “Right, Buck?” Behind Christopher’s back, he pushes a thumbnail into Buck’s calf until he drags his eyes open. “You know the doctor said you can’t sleep for three more hours, so that’s not why your eyes are closed, is it?”

“Nah, ‘s not that.” His words are slurred, but Eddie’s no more concerned that he has been all afternoon, since the doctor had warned them that it’s a common side effect of concussions. “Jus’ wonderin’ ‘f I can still keep up w’th sec’nd grade sc’nce work. ‘S ‘lot to ‘member.”

“Don’t worry, Bucky, I’ll teach you.” Christopher sits up to explain, leaving room on the mattress  for Eddie to stretch out on his other side.

There's no way any of them will sleep now, not once Chris starts telling Buck about all the kinds of clouds he learned about in school today.  

Eddie knows he’ll be tired in the morning, but it’ll be worth it, knowing the two most important people in his life are safe and taken care of.

#evanweek2020 #ew2020 #evan buckley #christopher diaz #eddie diaz #911 #911 fox #911 fanfic #katie writes #kw20 #originalcontentfirstdegreefangirl

[antman-56]

The Long Night Pt. 14

When STRQ entered the peanut gallery, the moment they were visible a large number of students surrounded them.

“THAT WAS AWESOME!!”

“THAT’S A COOL SWORD!”

““HOW ARE YOU STILL HOT?!”

“ARE YOU DATING?”

It all came to a halt as soon as Scarlet walked up to them.

Scarlet : Mr. Xiao Long

Tai froze in place. 

Scarlet : Your team 2 weeks detention starting tomorrow. Report to my classroom 7-B building 2A at 15:00.

Tai : Why?

 Scarlet : 3 weeks and for the reason, the destruction of school property, I am not adding the fact that you continued to beat Theodore due to his semblance.

Jaden : THAT’S BULLSHIT!! HE SHOULD BE SENT BACK TO BEACON.

The room suddenly felt heavy. A sudden pressure was now on everyone shoulders as if all their guilty was making it hard to breathe and stand up right, a few people fell to the floor. 

Scarlet : Are you telling me what to do? Because if I remember correctly (walks up to Jaden who can’t do anything) I am the teacher, not you. 2 weeks detention for your whole team along with team STRQ. 

Jaden : But that’s 

Scarlet : 3.

Jaden stayed quiet.

Scarlet : Now since the Combat Room’s ceiling is destroyed and the glass needs to be replaced, class will resume tomorrow.

 A mix of cheers and groans were made.

Scarlet : That doesn’t mean you will get off easy. I want a 5,000 word essay about the use of Aura with a cited page, otherwise you don’t participate tomorrow  and get a 0. And it will be increased into a 10,000 word essay. NOW DISMISSED!

***Dorms***

STRQ hurried their way to their dorms after Scarlet dismissed them.

It was now group study time.

Raven and Summer were on the computers they checked out from the library, Tai was on his text book to see if they could use some articles, and Qrow was doing a mix of looking through Summer’s notes and throwing spitballs at Tai. 

Tai : Hey babe, any articles about Aura.

Raven : Never call me that and ask Summer, it’s her job. Mine is checking the syllabus. 

Qrow (making a new spit ball) : To find a loophole or something..

Raven : Maybe, I want to pull a Summer.

Qrow fired another spit ball.

Tai then threw the textbook at Qrow. 

Raven : That reminds me, we need to see Willow.

The boys fighting in the background.

Summer : Why?

Raven : To upgrade our gear. I want new dust blades.

Tai (on top of Qrow, about to punch him) : Yeah I want my claws resharpened.

Qrow : Yeah, and Harbinger to.

Summer (groans) : Fine, but after we finish homework and get through tomorrow. Now you two stop fighting, I have the articles and the battle plan.

*** The Next Day***

 Scarlet : Well class, I am glad that the majority of you turned in your papers. However one team is disqualified from the tournament. (she turns to team TRBO). Now team BLAD and team SLVR. go your assigned corner and prepare for combat.

Ben : We’ve chosen our two representatives.

Scarlet : (whispers) Oh, shit (normal) I forgot to mention we are now doing 4 on 4 matches now. The reason being is that the Headmaster wants to see the “Next Generation”.

Both teams didn’t argue and walked to their corners. 

Tai : Well that blows. I wanted to kick ass just by being on my own again.

Raven ( flicking his head ) : Stop being stupid.

Tai : You love it when I am.

Qrow : Gross.

As the team starts chatting, Qrow gets a message on his scroll from an unknown number.

??? : *“We need to talk”

Qrow (texting) : *“Wrong number”

??? : *“It’s Willow”

Qrow : *“Proof, put a spoon on your head”

??? : (Selfie of her with a spoon on her head and glaring at the camera, she has a slight blush on her face for doing something stupid ) * “There”

Qrow : *“Saving this and send the time and place”

Qrow was snickering, saving the scroll number and using the picture as a thumbnail for the number.

Tai : What are you laughing at?

Qrow (looking around to see if Summer was near by) : A way to explain the USB to Summer.

Tai : Willow?

Qrow : Willow.

Both men got up and went to see the next battle.

***10 minutes later***

Team BLAD won, but they cut it real close.

They tried to do the same thing as yesterday, but team SLVR anticipated it.

It was Ben vs Sam. Leader vs leader.

Ben’s Aura was 28% and Sam’s Aura was 25%. Sword on sword action.

Everything seemed to be going good for Sam until the last 10 seconds. For some reason Sam fell to her knees and covered her ears. Ben struck her down, winning the match for team BLAD.

Now it was STRQ’s match against JACB.

Some members of team JACB apeared more anxious than others.

***Red Corner***

Summer : Alright team ready!

Raven : Hell Yeah.

Tai : Do you need to ask Sum.

Qrow : Let’s do it.

Summer : Alright, Phoenix.

*** Blue Corner***

Chip : I want the emo fuck!

Chip was wearing a light blue leather armor, similar to what a soldier would wear in the Atlas infantry.

Blif : No, I get him. You can get the silver eyed bitch. 

Blif wore the same thing as his brother the only thing different instead of the armor being blue it was yellow.   

Jaden : You both can take him. I’ll take the Blond and his girlfriend.

Jaden had dawned a mix of a monk’s attire and Viking. He had a opened robe with the designs of some dead language, the shoulder pads had small spikes surrounding it , he tore off the sleeves and had boxing tape around his fore arm and hands, he wore heavy black boots, his forearms had armor, and he had a headband.

Adam : So, I go for the girl who started it all.

Adam wore a trench coat over reinforced leather armor. His family crest on the back of both the trench coat and armor.

Jaden : Yes and No. Lead her away from her team. Only fight her to repel, well leave her for the end. Now on 3. 1. . . 2. . . 3  URAH!!!

JACB : URAH !!!

The doors opened, the battle has now started.

Tai and Raven were up front, with Qrow and Summer behind them..

Blif and Chip were going to meet them first and Adan and Jaden following.

Tai clashed with chip and Raven with Blif.

Qrow grabbed onto Tai’s shoulders to use as a platform, jumped up into the air, and kicked Jaden.

When Jaden got up he and Qrow began to fight. Adam was about to help Jaden, but was stopped by Summer.

He had his back towards her and she used her crossbow to get his attention. She showed him she was the one that shot him with her weapon, Moonlight.

She ran and Adam followed her all the while yelling, “I got this!!”. 

Raven : Aren’t you the guys that my baby brother beat up?

Blif activated the dust canisters in his shield to push  Raven back, Chip copied his brother.

They looked at each other and smiled.

Chip : Well then,

Blif : That changes things.

They ran at the couple with a new determination.

***Qrow’s Fight ***

Jaden and Qrow were now in an area that resembled a beach.

Jaden was using his batons against Qrow’s sword.

That’s when his foot slipped when he went for a strike.

Qrow took advantage and kicked him to the sidewalk.

Jaden got up just in time to block Qrow’s blade.

Jaden (grunting) : So, your better with a weapon then with your hands.

Qrow (grunting) : I could say the same.

They pushed off each other to gain some distance.

Jaded : Y’know, all of this couldn’t have to be personal, if you kept to yourself, but no you just had to save your girlfriend.

Qrow : She’s not my . . .

Jaden ran up to Qrow , jumped over him and in mid air touched his head.

Jaden (internally) : Nothing’s happening. Maybe if I force it.

Little did they both know, the waves were growing.

***Summer’s Fight***

Summer lead Adam to a forest area. 

She was on a tree top and had a clear view of Adam. She was invisible and had a weapon that made little to no noise.

She fired a bolt and it hit. Adam’s Aura was now 84%.

He took cover behind the closest “Tree” and waited.

Adam : You know hiding isn’t going to . . .

A bolt was next to his head.

Adam : HA. You mis . . . 

The bolt exploded.

*** Raven’s and Tai’s Fight***

The twins were keeping the couple busy.

They made sure not to separate the couple. If Tai activated his semblance they were done, but since he was near Raven she would take a hit of friendly fire.

Chip decided it was time. 

He activated his dust weapons. His sword became longer with an outer layer of ice. The hilt transformed to have a hilt of a snowflake and was now emitting a light blue gas, while his shield started to glow blue.

When Tai blocked the new weapon his eyes went wide, jumped back, and gasped. His Aura dropped to 95%. 

Chip : Freezing isn’t it. That’s a new dust to simulate dried ice. It’s so cold it burns.

He went for the offensive and all Tai could to do was dodge.

His brother followed his example. He activated his dust weapons, his weapon started to glow yellow as well as his shield. Little bits of electricity sparked off of his as a intimidation tactic

Blif threw his shield at Raven, who ducked only to be struck by Blif’s blade. Her Aura dropped to 78%.

She dropped to her knees and was panting heavily. Her muscles were tense, all she could was look up and glare at Blif.

Blif : What’s wrong sweet heart, are you a mute now.

Raven slowly got up, using her blade as a crutch. She then put her blade in her sheath and pulled out a yellow blade. She got into her battle stance and gave the the trademark Branwen smirk.

She was going to enjoy this.

***Qrow’s Fight***

Both fighter were now on the pier of the beach.

Jaden combined his two batons to make a bo staff against Qrow.

Jaden’s Aura was from 87% to 62% and Qrow’s Aura was from 100% to 54%.

Qrow noticed that his bad luck was doubling down. It was like he broke six mirrors, let a family of black cats cross him, and stepped on a crack all at once times 5.

Jaden felt the same. He was making rookie mistakes and hating himself for it. 

The pier they were both on was now was creaking. Any one of their steps could mean their lasts.

Jaden : You just couldn’t have picked another person. I wanted the blonde.

Qrow ignored him and continued to fight.

Jaden’s time for using Qrow’s semblance was almost over, but what was it.

He didn’t get faster, stronger, anything. Hell one semblance let him spit acid, this one didn’t do anything. Nothing!!!

That was when the plank Qrow was standing on broke. 

Jaden went to jab him with his bo staff. He pushed Qrow back to the beginning of the pier.

Jaden : What the hell! What is your semblance?! 

Qrow smirked.

Jaden : My semblance lets me copy the semblances of anyone I touch for a short time. But yours nothing. NOTHING!!!

Qrow chuckled.

Qrow : That explains it. 

Jaden : Explain what?

Qrow just pointed behind them.

Jaden turned around to only see a Tsunami coming. He saw Qrow running away to the buildings and he soon followed.

As he ran, he heard the pier being decimated behind him. Unfortunately, for him the plank he just stepped on just broke. He caught himself only to feel the force of the tsunami.  

“JADEN INGENUUS ELIMINATED”

***Raven’s and Tai’s Fight***

Raven and Tai were now separated. Chip lead Tai into a a frozen tundra area and Raven and Blif stayed in a the middle area.

Blif and Raven were exchanging blades, blow for blow. It was like the both of them knew what the other was going to do.  It was then that Blif parried her oncoming attack that he punched her.

Raven backed away from him to gain distance and got into a new stance. She then noticed he copied her. 

She had a plan.

She ran away, while flipping the bird at Blif. He in turn ran towards her.

Tai was not having the same luck. He has been evading and dodging most of Chip’s attacks. He couldn’t find any openings with the dust shield blocking anything he threw at it. He had his Aura drop to 65% from just doing what he could do. He couldn’t even use his semblance since they were on top of a ice berg. Intense heat and ice don’t exactly go together.

He was now on a thin ice bridge, on top of a raging ice river. If someone drops Aura goes away instantly.

Chip : Hey Blondie, how come your doing nothing? 

Tai exhaled, he really didn’t like being called “Blondie”.

Chip : Doesn't matter. When I’m done here i’ll help my brother. Tag team the emo’s sister. 

He gave Tai a disgusting smile and that broke his thin ice.

Tai had a nerve that he didn’t know he developed. Whenever, anyone talked about his girlfriend like she’s a piece of meat  he would lose his patience faster.

Chip’s smile grew wider. He had the advantage over Tai. He blocked the closest exit off the bridge if it melts, and if he somehow didn’t fall onto the water and make it to the other side then he would have enough time to help Blif with Raven and then Tai.

Tai activated his semblance and ran towards Chip. When he was closer to Chip he let his semblance cut loose. All the ice under the both of them started to melt, along with the dust on Chip’s sword and shield. 

Chip went to defend with his shield to cover his face from the fist that Tai had made. Big mistake. He left himself open and Tai went for a stomach punch. 

Tai ran towards the other side, the bridge finally gave out and was falling. He was at the end of the bridge till he felt a hand grab his leg. Tai fell onto the floor to see Chip.

Chip jumped to grab his leg after he recovered and smiled at the sight of Tai’s shocked face.

“TAIYANG XIAO LONG ELIMINATED”

“CHIP NAVIS ELIMINATED”

***Raven’s Fight***

When the announcement finished, she was pissed off. 

She stopped running and was now in the middle of a dark swamp.

Blif : Give up.

Raven activated her sheath to launch out a blade.

Blif naturally dodged the attack. When he turned to look at Raven she was gone.

“ADAM  DROOM ELIMINATED”

Blif : WHAT?!?! (internally) How was Adam out.

He looked up to see the Aura display. Adam’s Aura was at 15%

The silver eyed bitch was 67% and the emo fuck was at 32%.

When he was done looking at the board, he dodged a Sythe aimed for his head. In that moment he was hit with a series of smoke dust bolts.

His Aura was now at 57% in an instant.

He was panicking. He was alone against three pissed off enemies.

A bolt hit his hand, dropping his sword. He dropped to his knees and rushed to pick it up, when his hand touched the hilt, a foot crushed it.

He looked up and saw Raven with a scowl on her face.

He smiled weakly and got a kick to the face as a reward.

Raven : Get up.

Blif : Hey come on. Make this fair.

Raven responded by striking him across the chest with Omen, dropping his Aura to 39%.

Blif got up from the attack and ran away from her.

When he got to the edge of the swamp forest and into the lava zone. he saw her waiting for him.

Raven : Why are you running? You were talking big just a few minutes ago.

He ran back into the swamp, just to stop when she was a few feet in front of him.

He did this 4 more time till he was tired and he was in the middle of the swamp. 

Raven (walking up to him ) : Give up.

Blif ( close to an anxiety attack ) : How do you even-

He never got his answer, Raven went for him.

She started by striking him 8 times and ended it with a swift kick to the abdomen.

When he hit the closest tree his back was turned to his Aura broke.

“TEAM STRQ VICTORIOUS”

#qrow branwen #Summer Rose #raven branwen #taiyang xiao long #rwby #rwby au #long night part 14

[frankchurchillsaysrelax]

build a bridge to my heart and lead the way

 part one

Alex has never been a huge fan of metaphors. He’s always preferred a more straightforward approach to the world, even more so since he’s been back home.

But there has never been anything straightforward about his feelings for Michael. So here he is, alone in his bed comparing their relationship to his missing leg. That afternoon in the tool shed, a lifetime ago and yet all too recent in his mind, had injured them irrevocably. The tentative possibility of something more was dealt a blow at the hands of his father.

For a decade they’d avoided the issue, letting the pain fester in the prolonged periods of separation. Sex had been their crutch, had kept the connection between them from falling apart for all those years without ever having to talk or heal.

Now they are here, finally building a foundation and standing on their own, adjusting to their new normal as friends. He tells himself not to push them too fast, knowing from his actual leg that rushing the process just leaves you laid out on your ass and hurting.

Days like today make the temptation to take that next step unbearable. Closing his eyes he can perfectly see the way the sunlight caught the hidden golden highlights in Michael’s hair and the column of his throat enticingly exposed whenever his head was thrown back in laughter, something Alex is proud to say was often.

Walking through town at the latest alien themed festival, avoiding Isobel and her eagerness to put them to work, had felt natural and innocuous. The day had been warmer than normal for the time of year and Michael’s bare arm had brushed against his as they walked close together even in less crowded areas. Skin electrified under the slightest touch, Alex had needed to remind himself not to grab his hand.

Michael had stepped away whenever they were approached by one of his father’s friends, always staying close and ready to rejoin him after he’d fulfilled his dutiful politeness. At one point while talking about his plans for retirement, he’d watched peripherally as Liz and Maria had cornered him by one of the booths. Michael had brushed it off when he’d asked and Alex hoped they hadn’t moved onto harassing him about the status of their relationship. They had already been bothering Alex for weeks.

Giving up on the prospect of sleep, he sits up and pauses before making his decision. He pulls on the sock and fastens the prosthetic into place before grabbing a jacket and his keys and walking out the front door. Suddenly the cabin is too secluded, too remote.

He’s halfway there before he’s aware of where his mind has taken him on autopilot. He isn’t really surprised, but he is wary. It’s after two in the morning and he wouldn’t blame him for turning him away. He follows the familiar route back to where Michael parks his airstream. The headlights track the graveyard of broken vehicles, markers leading him to his destination.

He turns the lights off as soon as he sees them gleam off the side of the trailer, staying put while he tries to make a plan. He is just exiting the car when the door to the swings open revealing Michael wearing nothing but boxers, rubbing the side of his face in a listless gesture. Alex takes a few steps closer so he is more easily visible.

“Alex?” He moves down onto the top step. “You ok?”

Alex opens his mouth but still doesn’t have the words to explain his presence. He offers an unhelpful shrug.

Michael glances down at his mostly naked body before taking a step back inside. He gestures toward the fire pit. “Get a fire started, I’ll be right out.”

Happy to have a task, Alex makes quick work of following orders. He has claimed his favorite lawn chair, the one he knows is most comfortable to get up from on his leg, when the door swings open again. It’s a long moment before Michael reappears, holding two mugs and closing the door behind him with his mind.

He sits in the chair closest to Alex before passing him one of the mugs. He offers the black one with a little green alien and Alex smiles, humming in happiness when the smell of chocolate hits his nose.

“Thanks.”

Michael nods with a tired smile and Alex feels guilty for waking him. They sit in silence, Michael shifting in his seat trying to get comfortable and Alex blowing on his too hot drink wondering if he should just leave. He steals a glance at Michael, now fully covered in a long sleeve shirt and jeans but no less beautiful to Alex.

This is what he wants. Quiet nights spent in each other’s company with nothing but nature’s soundtrack and a warm fire surrounding them. But he knows they’re not quite there yet.

“Twenty questions.”

“Light as a feather stiff as a board.” Michael laughs at the confused look on Alex’s face. “Oh, sorry, are we not randomly naming middle school sleepover games?”

Alex rolls his eyes and brings his mug closer to his face hiding his flushing cheeks behind the steam. He’s not sure where the idea came from but it’s growing on him. “Humor me, Guerin.”

Michael takes a sip from his own mug, lips quirking into a teasing smile.

“Liz and Deluca put you up to this? Did they dare you?” He shakes his head in mock sympathy. “You shoulda picked truth man.”

Alex ignores the gibe. “What do you mean did they put me up to it?”

Michael waves a hand, his eyes focused on the fire. “They were just being annoying earlier. Thought maybe they’d cornered you too.” He doesn’t elaborate, evading the topic as he had this afternoon, but Alex can guess the kinds of things the girls had said to him. He's starting to wonder if they have money on this.

Silence falls between them as they absorb the warmth of the flames and the hot cocoa. Michael has added some kind of spice, nutmeg, he thinks. Alex has no clue where he’d found it in the airstream but he’s glad he’d thought of it.

“Ok ok, I’ll play along.” Alex startles and then settles back into his seat feeling smug. Michael is just too easy sometimes.

“Favorite movie?”

Michael looks down into his mug like it holds the secrets to the universe.The firefight casts shadows across his face but Alex would wager a guess that he is blushing. “October Sky. Favorite song?”

“You’re a sadist.” Michael looks up with a surprised laugh and can’t hide his smile. Alex groans. “Ok, um,” he pauses, thumbs tapping against his mug while he tries to narrow down his choice. “First Day of My Life. Bright Eyes.”

“Random.” Michael tilts his head to the side, not judging just taking the information in. “I like it.”

They go back and forth like that for a while, asking trivial things and laughing as the fire slowly burns down. Without asking, Michael adds some more wood when it gets too low, wordlessly telling Alex to stay.

Alex flounders for his next question. Mug long since emptied and set to the side, his hands start tapping out a beat on his legs. He will never run out of things he wants to know about Michael, he’s sure of that, but he’s getting tired and also trying to avoid anything too deep. Tonight isn’t the night for those conversations.

“How did you know about light as a feather stiff as a board?” Maria had made him and Liz play it once when they were kids. She’d been so upset when it didn’t work.

Michael’s content smile turns mischievous and he looks up at him from beneath his eyelashes. Alex probably shouldn’t be as attracted to him as he is right now.

“Max and I would sneak down into the Evans’ basement to spy on Izzy and her friends sometimes. One time we came down and one of the girls was laying there with her eyes closed while the others surrounded her. Max thought they were doing some kind of ritualistic sacrifice.” He snorts, shaking his head fondly at the happy memory of his brother.

“When they started chanting I caught on and I used my powers to lift her, just a couple of inches. Oh man, did they freak.” Alex loves seeing the unbridled joy on Michael’s face as he loses himself in the memory of a time when he and his siblings could just be kids. He knows how rare moments like that were for him.

“So you’ve always been a menace to society,” he quips.

Michael throws him a wink, looking way too proud of himself. “If there wasn’t proof I came from the stars, you’d think I’d popped up straight outta hell.”

Still smiling, his right hand absentmindedly moves to rub at the inside of his left forearm. It’s something he’s seen Michael do a handful of times over the years but he's never been able to figure out what triggers it or if he even knows he is doing it. He files it away as one of the more serious questions he’ll ask when he’s feeling brave.

“Wait.” Something clicks in his tired brain and he glares at Michael. “Was Maria there?”

Michael’s eyes squint as he drifts back into the memory. “Maybe? It’s possible, there was that brief blip where she and Is actually liked each other.” His eyes widen as Alex glares harder. “What?”

“She couldn’t get it to work with me. I had to buy her ice cream so she wouldn’t cry!”

Michael shakes his head, grin wider than before. “I’ll buy you an ice cream to make up for it, huh?”

His smile radiates and the waves roll onto Alex forcing him to drop the charade. “Well it’s the least you can do.”

Michael’s laugh is consumed by a yawn he tries to hide by turning his head, but reality crashes down around Alex and he remembers where they are. He’s imposing and although Michael won’t say it he knows he’s stayed too long.

“I should let you get back to sleep.” He stands before Michael can say anything, but he doesn’t even try, just looks up at Alex from behind drooping eyelids. Alex wants to kiss him goodbye. He wants to kiss him good night and he wants to kiss him good morning. He really needs to leave.

Walking towards his car, he stops and turns back when Michael calls his name.

Michael’s head tilts to one side as his eyes rake over him from head to toe sending a shiver down Alex’s spine and a burst of warmth to his gut at the same time.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“I am now.” With a small wave he turns quickly and practically jumps into his car.

Driving in the opposite direction, his eyes barely stray from the mirror where Michael’s figure grows smaller and further away until he extinguishes the fire, disappearing into the darkness.

#my fic #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #i’ve discovered my brand is hurting michael and making alex pine like a christmas tree #i hope it’s not too late to post this

[wileds]

𝐡𝐜 : 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 / 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬.  a year or so after the fall love starts using his semblance more.  he wears even lighter armor than before, often going without his gold armor belt or the lower half (vambrace + gauntlet) of his arm piece, essentially left with a pauldron and rerebrace above the elbow.  there are scars on both of his forearms now where in the past love always looked impressively free of visible scars.  slender, long, but relatively thin and well healed.  these are self-inflicted remnants of where he cut himself to trigger his blood affinity & gain blood empowerment.  the amount of marks gathered in such a relatively short period of time strikes one as unusual due to the healing properties of aura, but the crux of his affinity is needing contact with blood to maintain the boosts in power.  grimm don’t bleed and serious skirmishes against people are still rarer confrontations as a hunter-in-training, so he relies on himself as a source of blood letting, dropping his aura shielding and keeping it down for whatever duration he sees fit.  mixed with the side effects of his semblance, particularly after prolonged use, he often neglects or doesn’t care about healing up in time to prevent lasting marks.  there may be some other properties of his affinity in play too affecting the bleeding / healing process, but those kinds of details are held pretty close to chest.  love is still in the training process with everything.  he will rarely cut himself in the middle of a real fight because going unprotected, even while boosted with his semblance, greatly invites getting hit with serious damage.  receiving blunt trauma does absolutely nothing for him but damage.

he doesn’t give much indication of how he feels about all the new scarring on his body, whether it has marred his vision of himself or affected body confidence, although he will easily admit that they’re from his semblance and not from any unfortunate accidents!  in any case … his plentiful, wonderful, pretty wardrobe has not changed.  short sleeves & sleeveless outfits leave everything unabashedly uncovered.

hand in hand with learning how to control this method is renewed mentorship with a mentor modeled after 2019 ala/ddin’s hak/im, someone who has worked for and with the clarkias for a long time, seasoned, well into retirement already –— and a descendant of the bloodmad, the person last graced by their hereditary semblance who lived during the great war.  on weekends love will either go home or his mentor will go up to vacuo city, and they’ll do some concentrated sessions together exclusively on semblance training both physical and mental:  drills, meditation, lessons of family history and strategy.  the mentorship is not perfect since paltry few are still alive from when the previous inheritor of the tribe’s semblance was around, more than 80 years ago.  those that are alive don’t have the mind, desire, or able body for battle or mentorship.  a lot of what they do together is knowledge & exercises passed down through the generations to hone skills.  his mentor does have memories of the bloodmad but they’re pretty foggy, gained at a young age.  a few personal stories and even more tales that the entire tribe would know.  the rest of their training is progress made through collaborative trial-and-error.  despite imperfections, this focused study and love’s new willingness to shrug off his longtime distaste for this particular method of using his semblance is helping turn the lessons into a fruitful endeavor instead of something to dread. 

love’s prowess has always been remarked upon in the tribe, beginning with the incredibly young age that his power first awakened.  known to have natural hunting & combat skills ever since, someone eager to learn and prove himself better (or to receive praise and recognition for his achievements.  probably all of the above).  shown true at the vytal tournament as well.  with this new tool beginning to form, there is much hope & excitement that his potential will blossom into even greater heights as he loosens the retrains kept on his fighting.  it takes a lot for him to trip into bloodlust, but this is another facet that he will have to tackle so he can keep his head in battle and keep dangerous recklessness at bay.  it’s always been a known given that their hereditary semblance lends itself best to brutal fighting styles and even a measure of wildness.  his goal is definitely to turn his semblance from a crutch used only in dire situations to a tool that he feels in control of rather than controlling him.  getting to the point where he admits that using his semblance –— the strength, the violence –— feels  really good  will come one day.

fun fact : that very beautiful, ceremonial looking dagger in my dashcon is relevant!  love isn’t using his axes on himself, but a separate blade that has Symbolic And Historical Significance for the clarkias.

#✧ﾟ * hc. i see gold on your cheeks and glitter in your lungs –— * #reposting. #hc.p

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch22 (V x Reader)

Chapter 22 - Farewell

Soundtrack - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eYf-EsadU7I

___________________________________________

June 14th, 2:13 pm

You jump up off your seat and wrap your arms around Nero in gratitude.

With everyone on the same page, this will be so much easier!

“Thank you, Nero,” you emphatically state before pulling back. Your friend huffs as he starts to walk away, but he pauses a step later as one last question crosses his mind.

“Did Dante know?” he asks tightly.

V grimaces, his hands twitching slightly at the mention of his brother.

“He knew Urizen was Vergil. He did not know I am too,” he replies. Nero nods once and leaves, and you and V are alone again.

“That went well,” you assure your partner, still holding the ice pack to his jaw where Nero had hit him. He lets out an amused huff, smirking. You pull the ice away to check the swelling; it’s not too bad.

 Nero must’ve pulled his punch at the last second.

“Thank you for telling them,” you continue softly, “I know it wasn’t part of your plan, but it might help you to have more people on your side.”

V gives you a small hum of acknowledgement, but you can tell from the furrow of his brows that he’s still uncomfortable with so many people knowing his secret. You lay a soft hand on his shoulder and squeeze the tattooed flesh comfortingly.

“Let rays of truth enlight his sleeping brain,” he recites simply, and you can’t help but smile fondly. You kiss his unhurt cheek softly.

“I should go find out what the plan is,” you murmur. Despite how exhausted you are from last night’s revelry and today’s revelations, you know the group needs to keep going, keep taking down roots.

 We’ve still only managed to break one… and it almost killed Nero. We need a better plan.

V takes the ice pack and holds it in place himself, letting you leave the kitchen to find Nero and Nico. They aren’t far – you find them in the next room, Nero strapping his sword back in place and Nico taking another moment to examine the weapons on the wall. As you walk over to her, she reverently pulls down a long blade.

“Y/N, you might wanna take this!” she exclaims as you reach her. She turns to face you, holding out the blade for your examination.

Even with your lack of knowledge you can tell this sword is exquisite. The dual-edged blade glints in the low light, the polished steel clearly well-maintained. You wrap your hands around the handle, a beautiful few inches of light wood that feels slightly warm as you carefully lift it out of Nico’s hands. A red tassel dangles from the pommel, the shade matching the round gem in the guard perfectly. You hold it close to your eyes, marveling at both its lightness and its balance as you look closer at the golden guard to see intricate carvings wrapping around the steel.

“It’s a Jian, from China. Normally you’re supposed to train for over a decade to use one of these, but considering the circumstances… Here, let me show you how you hold it, these are a little different,” Nico explains happily, and you slowly hand her the blade. She holds the hilt up and wraps her fingers around it, farther up toward the guard than you would’ve expected.

“I don’t know a whole lot about these, but it’s a stabbing and slicing weapon. Oh, and it’s one-handed! When a pro uses one its super twirly and gorgeous to watch! Something like this, but way faster,” she rambles on, stepping into a clear area to do a few very slow rotations with the blade.

“Nico, come on. Let me show her some stuff, you got no idea what you’re doing,” Nero tells her nonchalantly as he walks over to join you two. Nico rolls her eyes but holds the sword out for the young warrior to take.

Nero gives the jian a few test swings, the blade making a loud snapping sound whenever he pauses his motion to point the blade at some imaginary foe. He smiles appreciatively as he twirls the well-balanced blade in a tight circle around his body. Satisfied, he waves you over.

“Alright, now I’m more used to bigger, heavier swords but you should start by practicing this motion,” he instructs you, falling into his teaching mindset as he makes a slow figure eight around his body, the blade flashing as it catches the light. You watch carefully, noting how his fingers loosen at certain points in the rotation to let the blade turn more easily. He holds it out to you with a smile, backing away a safe distance as you hold it the way Nico showed you.

It's much harder than he made it look. You struggle to twist your wrist and make the smooth, even strokes as Nero had. Your wrist starts to ache and you narrow your eyes in concentration, ignoring the sensation as you try to get used to the long blade spinning near your body. Nero calls out to you after a few minutes and you lower the weapon gratefully, your wrist strangely warm.

“Just one other thing I wanna show you; how to do a thrust. Try to use your forearm to support it, it’ll give you a bit more control as you move,” he informs you and shows you what he means with a long, slow thrust. The pommel rests just under his wrist at the end, his arm fully extended. He shows you the motion a few more times before handing the sword back to you and backing away to stand next to Nico.

You adjust your grip, making sure your fingers are wrapped around the right spot. You plant your feet and snap your arm forward, elbow flexing as your arm reaches as far as it can. You squeeze the handle slightly to make sure the pommel is secure against your wrist as the blade makes a loud snap.

 This is a bit easier; I don’t think I’ll cut myself if I do it wrong at least.

“Impressive, little fox,” V says calmly as he joins you from the kitchen, ice pack still held against his bruised jaw. You flush slightly at his praise, carefully lowering the sword. Nico holds out the sheath to you and you stow the blade inside, tying the strings around your belt and letting the sword hang from your left hip with a smile.

V turns to face Nero and Nico, a slightly uncomfortable look crossing his features as he addresses them.

“We should get back to the van and resume our advance,” he comments, and Nero nods grimly. You sigh, knowing you’ll have to use the crutches for the longer trek. Your hip is healing fast, but you still need to be careful not to overdo it too much. Any strain you can avoid will only help it heal faster.

The group breaks apart, each of you gathering your varied possessions. You grab another few water bottles and some snacks, raiding the first aid kit for good measure. Within twenty minutes, the four of you are once again gathered in the main room around Dante’s desk. Exiting the building, you blink your eyes at the harsh sunlight.

 Guess I have been living by candlelight for a while…

You hitch up your backpack once more before settling your weight into the crutches reluctantly. You take a step toward where you remember the van last being parked, but Nico calls your name before you can take a second.

“I had to move the van, it’s this way now. Little bit closer, too,” she adds with a smile, and you shoot her a grateful look as you follow her lead in the opposite direction. Nero and V take the lead, staying a few dozen steps ahead of you and Nico and clearing out any demons before you proceed. It’s a slow process, but you’re glad to avoid participating in any fights for now.

A few blocks pass before you realize you recognize the street you stand on and freeze.

 I live here…

“Y/N? What is it?” Nico asks you in concern.

“I… this is the street my apartment is on,” you inform her softly and she grins.

“We should stop by, get you some of your own clothes,” she comments back and you nod, smiling at the thought of your own clothes!

She signals the two men ahead with a sharp whistle, earning her a glare from Nero as he steps heavily back to see what’s going on.

“Y/N’s old place is nearby, we gotta stop by for some necessities,” Nico informs him with a conspiratorial wink. Nero pauses, clearly about to ask what exactly could be so important for you to have, but thinks better of it and instead just sighs in defeat.

“Is it at least on this street?” he probes, looking at you for direction.

“Yeah, it’s on the next block,” you answer back easily. He hums in acknowledgement and turns around, trotting back to tell V what’s going on.

When you eventually reach your own apartment building, you’re shocked by the state it’s in. One side of the building is riddled with holes where the roots emerged, dust and hunks of stone on the sidewalk in front. The other side which holds your apartment is in decent shape, the damage seeming to have been contained to the exterior.

 I wonder how much of my stuff got damaged?

Nero steps forward, pushing the double doors open and scanning the entrance for demons. He disappears inside for a few minutes, only his shouts and the sound of his blade slicing through flesh telling you of his battle. When he comes back outside to wave you, Nico and V forward, his jacket has a fresh splash of demon blood on it and he wears a pleased smile.

You lead the group to the door of your home, smiling sadly at the wooden plaque hanging from it welcoming friends inside.

 I never had any friends come over, but I liked seeing it all the same when I got home.

Nero shoots the doorknob, your keys having been lost who knows when. You push the door open and step inside, crutches clattering against the cheap wood floor of the entrance. Your friends follow you inside eagerly, seemingly excited to see your old home.

You had expected to feel a sense of homecoming, of safety and rightness when you saw the familiar bookshelves stuffed with textbooks and thick novels. The horrible orange couch you had picked up off the side of the road, the tiny folding table and chairs where you used to eat your meals. Your eyes take in the scene, memories rushing through you of all the time you spent here, and you feel… empty.

 This isn’t home anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time…

It feels like the space belongs to someone else, some stranger who looked like you in a time long past. The photos on the wall of you smiling as you accepted your CNA certificate, of you hugging your mother, of Lara at her 11th birthday party… they spark no fondness, no familiarity inside you. All you feel is a strange sort of detached recognition. As if, yes, that was you, but it also somehow wasn’t.

You can’t deny how much you’ve changed since the onset of the demon attack, but to see such a stark comparison of before and after is still startling.

 Have I truly changed so much?

You consider the last few weeks. You had discovered demons exist, and so does hell in some form. You’d almost died (more than once!) and learned how to fight back. You’d formed a strong friendship with two of the most unlikely characters imaginable and fallen head over heels in love with a third. You’d discovered he was dying, and desperately searched for a way to save him, but you wouldn’t know if it would work until the moment Urizen was slain.

 I guess I have changed that much…

“Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll be as quick as I can,” you tell the waiting trio, ducking into your old bedroom to gather a few things.

The bedroom is somehow even more uncomfortable. Seeing the unmade bed, the sheets still tangled in evidence of some forgotten nightmare makes your jaw clench. You don’t want to be here anymore, in this place filled with remnants of a life you no longer recognize. You mentally shake yourself, clattering over to the closet to gather a few pairs of your favorite jeans, some comfortable tops and an assortment of underclothing. Almost as an afterthought, you pull down a nice blouse you reserved for special occasions and a skirt that showed off your calves.

You sigh and patter into the bathroom to add your toiletries to the pile of clothing on your bed, and you suddenly realize you may never return here again. Why would you? This space wasn’t yours anymore, didn’t feel right to occupy. Once Urizen was gone, you imagined you’d stick with your new friends, going wherever they ended up.

 I don’t even care where we go, as long as we all make it through this in one piece, I’ll be happy.

You glance around the room, considering which other items you may want. You take a few photos from your corkboard by the bed, an old locket your father had given you before he’d died when you were barely eight years old. Your laptop, a tiny little thing you used mainly for music storage. Headphones. Your favorite book. A small stuffed animal. You almost leave the book of concert tickets behind but end up adding it to the now large pile on the bed.

And with that, everything that matters to you is in a chaotic mass of items amongst your tangled blankets.

 I guess I should grab the file of documents, too. And the cash in the shoebox in the closet. Might as well use my suitcase at this point.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go. A small carry-on size suitcase holding everything you need, all the excess of your old life stripped away. It feels good to leave so much behind, cleansing to realize how much of it simply doesn’t matter to you anymore. The things that used to mean so much now proven to be useless.

 I feel… free.

You smile wryly to yourself as you leave the bedroom, sword clacking against the crutches as you rejoin your friends in the living room. Nico lounges on the couch, her legs propped up on your small coffee table. Nero sits beside her, arms crossed over his chest and leaning forward to make room for his sword on his back. V stands in front of your bookcase, of course, scanning the titles with interest. They all look at you as you noisily approach.

“All set?” Nero asks.

You pause for a moment, glancing around the room just in case. You hastily take the photos off the wall, one more book joining the first in the small bag. You glance at the wall phone, wondering if Nico might be able to make it work in the van. You pack it up, just in case.

“Got everything you need? We can always come back for more,” Nico asks with a kind smile.

“I have everything that matters. I won’t need to come back again,” you answer quietly.

Nero stands, his sword falling back into place once it has room. V takes a small book from your shelf and joins you, taking the bag from your hands so you can use the crutches properly with a gentle smirk. You lean over and plant a quick kiss on his exposed shoulder and his smirk deepens. His free hand swats your ass playfully as you pass him, joining Nico and Nero in the hallway. V turns to close the door as you leave.

“Leave it open. Someone else might need something,” you state firmly. He gives you a small nod and does as you ask. You take comfort in the idea of some random stranger putting the remains of your discarded life to good use as you and your friends leave it behind, stepping ever closer to whatever awaits you in your path to defeating Urizen.

The van is, as Nico promised, not much farther. Your quartet reaches it within half an hour of leaving your apartment, all clambering aboard with relieved expressions to find it just as Nico had left it. V sets your bag on the couch as he goes to lean against the stove with a frown. The rest of you soon settle into seats and the mood instantly shifts to one of quiet focus.

“Looks like the nearest root is close to the old cathedral about a mile from here,” you begin thoughtfully.

“V and I should go alone. The more time you have to heal, Y/N, the better off we’ll be in the end,” Nero comments, and you instantly want to protest but V speaks before you have a chance.

“Perhaps Nico could bring her once the demon is taken care of?” he chimes in, and you almost want to smack him for daring to suggest leaving you behind.

 Especially considering what the Glutton did to Nero! I mean, not that I could’ve done anything, but still!

“We’ll find a way through,” Nico adds.

“Wait, wait, wait… you guys can’t be serious! What if one of you gets hurt? What if you need me?” you manage to protest finally. Nero and V exchange a look, and suddenly you realize they had discussed this already, probably while you were packing at your apartment.

“Look, if one of us does get hurt, do you really think you could safely reach us while there’s still an ongoing battle? This is the safest option we have,” Nero explains carefully.

 I can’t fault that logic, damnit!

“Here I stayed to rest and then leaped into the void,” V adds, and you know you have no choice but to agree. You clench your jaw in frustration, hating the idea of not being there, not being able to help.

“If one of you gets killed, I’ll never forgive you,” you huff, crossing your arms.

“I’ll keep an eye on your boyfriend, don’t worry Y/N!” Nero teases you with a sly grin. He’s rewarded with a glare from V’s slightly blushing face as you just shake your head. Nero chuckles and stands, heavy steps bringing him to the door in a few strides.

“I’m gonna go make sure we’re alone, it’ll be dark soon so we might as well stay here tonight,” he explains as he leaves. Nico takes a look at you and V and decides she should be elsewhere, murmuring something about taking a smoke break as she quickly follows Nero outside. V quietly joins you on the couch, a thoughtful look on his handsome features.

The pair of you sit in awkward silence for a long moment before he speaks at last.

“It doesn’t seem like the right word, does it? Boyfriend…” he mutters, glancing at you from behind his curtain of obsidian hair. You can’t help but smirk at the way he says the word, like it’s an insult.

“No, it doesn’t seem sufficient. Nico said something similar to me earlier today,” you respond ruefully, wondering if she and Nero had planned this in advance.

V leans back, his long legs stretching out fully as he hums in agreement.

“What word would you deem suitable, then?” he asks you in a low tone.

 I guess some things are the same no matter how you meet someone. It’s always awkward when you have to label it.

“The best I could come up with was ‘partner,’” you inform him with a low blush. He chuckles deep in his throat and pulls you against his chest. You can hear his heart beating a little fast as he kisses the top of your head.

“Partner… yes. That’s perfect, my love,” he murmurs into your hair, taking a long sniff. You can’t help the toothy grin that stretches across your face at the approving tone he uses. You tilt your head to face him, leaning forward to press your lips against his happily. You feel his lips twist into a smirk before he opens to you, his arms wrapping around you as you run one hand up his chest. You embrace for a long moment, tongues dancing the now-familiar waltz across your joined lips. You sigh against him as you hear the door creak open and you pull away reluctantly.

“Don’t mind me, carry on! I’m heading to bed, pretend I ain’t here!” Nico teases playfully, jokingly covering her eyes as she walks by and ascends the hidden ladder to her bed. You’re about to kiss V again when the door opens again, Nero’s familiar stomp signaling his return.

“Thought I’d sleep in the passenger seat, we can get an extra early start if we don’t have to clean up a tent or anything,” he announces, heading to the front of the van. You roll your eyes at V and he smirks adorably before the pair of you reposition to lie on the couch in a close embrace. He nuzzles the back of your neck and you kiss his tattooed forearm where it crosses from under your head. Nero’s snores fill the air as you somehow manage to fall asleep, smile still painted on your lips.

___________________________________________

June 15th, 3:49 am

You don’t know where you are. You can barely see, only the first few feet ahead discernible in the thick mist that shrouds you in silence and damp cold.

“Hello? V? Nero, Nico, anyone there?” you cry out, but only your own voice echoes back in answer.

You shuffle forward, arms outstretched to feel any obstacles. You slowly progress for what feels like miles, the environment around you unchanging as your fear starts to climb, heart pounding faster as time drags on.

Finally, your hands touch something solid. After your initial flinch at the sudden contact, you touch it again. The texture is as familiar as your own reflection – leather, supple yet strong. You look closer at the fabric at your fingertips to see the color. It’s blue, somehow familiar…

Suddenly the mist vanishes, letting you see what you’re touching, and you scream.

It’s Nero.

His blue eyes stare upward, blank and unseeing in death. Blood covers his chest from a gaping wound, and you retch as you see inside his chest cavity, through his shattered ribs to see what’s left of his heart. Your hands pull away and you turn away from his corpse, the pain in your heart seeming to deepen as a growing suspicion sprouts in your mind at what you’ll see, tears already dripping from your chin.

You desperately wish you could look away as you see Nico and V lying nearby, limbs either missing entirely or twisted to impossible angles. Both of their faces are frozen in an expression of unfiltered rage. Nico’s body is impaled on a massive spike of metal, evidence that she was thrown from the driver’s seat of her van. Glass shards lie around her, coated in her blood.

 Please… please don’t make me look…

But you do. Your eyes travel without your permission to gaze at your beloved V’s still form on the ground before you.

His hair, his beautiful obsidian hair, is matted with blood. Your eyes are unable to move as you absorb the full gravity of what killed him; a chunk of his head is gone, exposing brain tissue to the open air. Chucks of grey and white litter the area nearby, blood a crimson backdrop only serving to highlight the contrast. You fall to your hands and knees as you crawl to him.

Your sobs wrack his body into a sickening lurch as you reach him, hands seizing the leather of his vest and pulling yourself closer. You look down at his face, shaking as you somehow hear his voice as his lips move in a horrible caricature of life.

 “Little fox… it’s alright, come on…”

You drop your head onto his chest and wail, pounding your fists in a useless effort to bring him back, make him stand up and not be dead. Hands wrap around your wrists and you look up to see V, head whole and unblemished by blood, a look of deep concern marring his face.

“Y/N, its alright! Wake up!” he cries as your eyes take in what’s behind him – the familiar backdrop of Nico’s van. You bury your face in his chest as everything slams into place.

 Just a nightmare. He’s alive, they’re all alive!

You feel hands on your back, even as V’s remain on your wrists and his long fingers stroke your palms comfortingly. You glance behind you and there’s Nero and Nico, both bleary eyed but alive, each with a single hand on your back.

It takes you a long moment to calm down, the four of you locked in a tableau as your breathing returns to normal at last.

“I’m sorry… I woke you all up, I’m sorry I –“ you start to gasp out, but three sets of lips all make varying sounds of frustration and you fall silent as V speaks.

“Don’t even start, little fox. You have nothing to apologize for,” he states clearly.

“Yeah, if anything you gave us an early start! We’ll be cleaning up Qlipoth roots in no time!” Nero adds with a tired smile. Nico just gives you a look, daring you to disagree with the two men. You sigh and give them a watery smile, accepting their kindness as best you can. Another few minutes pass in silence as you enjoy your friends' presence.

“The Tree still grows over the void, enrooting itself all around, from his woven darkness above,” V eventually recites with a frown and your heart jumps at the implications.

 I know they have to go, but…

 No, this is bigger than me. I have to make them go.

You school your features into a small smile and wipe your tears. You lean back, away from V as you speak.

“I’m alright now. You guys should get started, there’s no time to waste,” you tell the two men. Nero frowns but seems to accept your words, turning back to where he left his sword and jacket to prepare himself. V gazes into your eyes for a long moment and you force yourself to hide the last aftershocks of your nightmare. He seems convinced, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on your forehead as he stands.

Nico alone stays with you, taking V’s perch moments after he steps away. Your mask slips as she looks deep into your eyes but she doesn’t say a word, her sad smile saying everything you need to know.

 She knows I’m faking, but she understands why.

 Thank you, Nico…

Nero comes back to give you a quick hug before he steps outside, his arms a comforting warmth for an instant before he awkwardly stomps outside, scratching the back of his neck. V follows soon after, giving you a tender embrace and a gentle kiss before he pulls away, his emerald gaze glancing back at you once more as he steps out the door.

You wait another few minutes to make sure the men are out of hearing distance before you let your mask crack and fall away, revealing your pain to Nico as she holds you in a close hug, shushing you quietly as she rubs your back.

#dmc5 v #dmc5 #dmc #fanfic #v x reader #v x you #op #reader insert #angst #SBHS #my writing #vitale